


The Piper War: Book 1

by Lexshira, WillSpears



Series: The Piper War [1]
Category: Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate History, Exploration, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Fantasy, Gay Male Character, Gen, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, M/M, Magic, Multi, Other, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Sailing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 62,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26120020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexshira/pseuds/Lexshira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillSpears/pseuds/WillSpears
Summary: A mysterious disappearance, a top secret organization. From Sherlock Holmes to Alice Liddell, from Hua Mulan to Jeanne D'Arc heroes must rise to protect all of Multiversal Creation before it is too late. Civil War is starting to rise in the Wonderlands and a new god is about to rise in the Neverlands. This story takes place right after the events of the original Peter Pan and immediately after an altered ending to the original Alice story. Also just a note I only tagged Rape / Non-Con as a warning though such an event is not shown in the story it is only implied in the story. This work is completed but I have plenty more planned but that is only going to come if I can get some feedback from all you beautiful readers. Please leave me some feedback so I can improve what needs it and continue the things you liked.
Relationships: Hua Mulan x Jeanne d'arc, James Hook & Smee, James Hook x Mistress Thorn, Mrs. Darling x Mr. Darling, The Red King x Erithell
Series: The Piper War [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182872
Comments: 25
Kudos: 4





	1. Washed Ashore

**Author's Note:**

> I do offer all my dear readers an upfront apology. I have done and continue to do my best with my editing however I do suffer from many disabilities that make such matters extremely difficult for me so I apologize for any typos or grammar issues. I hope you have fun and enjoy the read.

**Washed Ashore:**

**( 1911 A.D., Siren's Shore, North-Central Province, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

Small bits of shell roll to and fro heaving starfish, seaweed, and a half-digested man onto the sunlit sand. Captain James Hook digs his bloodied digits and stump into the coarse sediment dragging his decimated frame up to the fingertips of the sea before collapsing. His coat, pants, and boots are gone lost in the churning gut of the crocodile. His sword, not lost, but rather left on purpose sticking halfway from the creature's belly. It had been the key to his escape from the croc's putrid stomach. He shivers. Torn white underclothes cling to burnt and lacerated skin. The once-beautiful hair of his head now eaten by stomach acid. Sharp pain slices through him with every breath as he coughs blood and seawater. 

Blurred vision scans the stormy sea. His mind fades out wandering back to the moment of his bitter defeat. Pan shimmers in his typical arrogant splendor. So cocky, so smug - the little puke. The jarring clang of his blade as he trades blows with the Pan rings in his ears. He stands firm on the deck as the boy leaps from a barrel onto the railing and swings a loose line to the other side of the ship. Hook charges. As his blade leans in for the fatal kiss; the Pan spins to the side landing a glancing cut below Hook's knee. Hook stumbles into the railing and meets a geyser of salt-water and teeth. The croc takes his head and shoulders dragging him over the railing. Hook and the Croc both fall back into the sea as he is swallowed completely.

Hook screams into the sky, "Peter blasted Pan! He was mine!"

Jolts of pain from cracked ribs and weeping abrasions pull him back to the present. Hook blinks and finally senses the touch of rain upon his face. It whips in sideways by the gale storm forming out at sea. His good hand lost, he tries to wipe his eyes with his bad hand only to find it stiff and unmoving. He rages, a broken man without even the strength to move. 

Warmth is lapped away from Hook by each receding wave. Desperate and determined he summons up the last of his will. Shoving with all his strength, warring against the searing pain consuming him Hook rolls onto his back. He stares up at the scorched sky above him, a flash of light within the clouds, and a deep rumble. Then suddenly, a loud crack! A great white-hot jagged bolt strikes the coastal waters. The radiant flash burns his retinas. Captain Hook tries to rub away the prismatic phantom left behind in his eyes but his arms refuse him. He shakes his head weakly causing a wave of painful nausea to wash over him. He re-opens his eyes and his vision clears. Staring bewildered at the sight before him he begins to heave heavy confused breaths as the sound of gleeful humming grows close amidst the thunder.

Atop the thrashing waves strolls a figure. At first, the being seems to be a tall flame, orange and twisting through the veil of rain before sharpening into the form of a man. He appears gaunt with starvation, garbed in a pumpkin orange formal suit with black pinstripes. A long row of coal-black buttons punctuates his jacket. A wide black leather belt clasped with a large golden buckle cinches his clothing tight at the waist before allowing the orange cloth to flare out over matching trousers. Black shiny dress shoes flash in unison with the lightning.

The thin man steps to land and strolls over cheerfully to the beached and battered Hook, crouching beside him. The jaunty man flips back the end of his scarf as it comes loose in the wind. The scarf appeared to be composed of hundreds of intricately cut and sewn rat pelts which gave it a heavy but dexterous nature. The scarf clings like a lover to the man's neck.

"Greetings James. I hope I'm not coming at a bad time," teases the thin man guffawing.

"Arrarraghh!" Hook tries to yell obscenities at the oh so clever fruit pie gawking at him but the croc's stomach acid had burned its way down his throat and nose. Hook growls, the blazing flame of his rage growing hotter as the pain in his chest builds to critical. Hook whimpers pitifully, pain peaking.

"Oh my, you seem to be dying, and without your sword or your good hand. Tisk Tisk. Look at you, pathetic, unarmed and whimpering. That's no way for a man of adventure like you to die. Crying like a little, prepubescent boy. Heh, heh, hee no sir. No, a man like you ought to die in a feather bed upon a pile of plunder while being pleasured by a gaggle of young girls and tender boys trained in the art of debauchery," waxes the skeletal stick-figure of a man. The stranger strokes Hook's cheek tenderly for a moment, examining Hook's decimated form with a sadistic smile before locking his eyes with Hook's.

"Where are my manners? I never introduced myself. You probably have not heard of me for my exploits were made famous in, shall we say, a place your ships cannot sail. You may call me the Piper," the orange-clad man jumps to his feet and gives a mock bow before kneeling back down and leaning in close to Hook. He continues in a whisper, "If you are indeed not ready to meet your watery compatriot Davy Jones you need only make your mark upon this parchment."

From his sleeve comes a rolled-up document which the Piper whips open with a flourish. Then he conjures forth a long quill with thin, black plumage. The piper maneuvers the pen into Hook's bad hand and presents the document close to his face.

"You will be erased from the Book of Death and granted the power to dangle Neverland from the tip of your…" He caresses Hook's decimated stump. "...Hook." the Piper places a kiss on Hook's stump.

"The...terms?" croaks Hook from his acid and sea-salt scorched throat.

"Mistrustful to the end" the Piper chuckles with delight, "That's good, I don't need a broken child as my general in the Neverlands. I need you fighting," as he speaks, the Piper punches Hook in the shoulder gleefully.

"One day I will require your sword for one battle, and when it's done, we will be square. Is it a deal?" the Piper bends his brow and grins waiting for an answer.

Hook continues to lay on his back bloodied, weak, bloated from saltwater absorption, anchored to his frame by the two chunks of blue glacier hatred of his eyes. The Piper holds his gaze. Then with a sudden violence Hook stabs the quill into the end of his stump. He begins to sign Capt but the Piper lays a hand on the effort.

"Your proper name if you please."

The letters drag themselves out on the blotched and sea sprayed parchment. James W. Fordon. As the 'n' completes his hand collapses to the sand. Hook's body smooths into a limp pudding puddle, barely breathing.

"Very good sir," continues The Piper excitedly as he straightens up and rolls the parchment, slipping it back into his coat.

"These are for you," the Piper procures a small, black flake and a thumb-sized clam from one of his coat pockets. Bending down with a shrug and a shake he presses the clam into Hook's palm.

"Grasp this m' boy. This is no ordinary mollusk." demands the Piper to no avail as Hook fails to respond to the Piper's request, slipping in and out of consciousness. The Piper frowns.

"Oh, now this won't do. You are too engrossed in death's requiem to get your orders." the Piper puts on a smile as he mashes the black flake into the end of Hook's bloody stump. The black flake sinks deep into the pale flesh of Hook's wrist-nub. Plasmatic wisps of dark blue and purple bloom from the spot. Thin black tendril-like veins begin to shift and twist growing out and in. The tendrils burrow into bone and muscle crystallizing into an ebony lattice that spreads up above his elbow.

Varicose charcoal veins stretch further up Hook's arm from under the newly formed lattice all the way through his shoulder and into his chest. Hook spasms and yells as the purple and blue surges of color streak through the veins. His whole body begins convulsing. Chasms of torn flesh knit together. Sagging muscles become piano wire. Dark hair sprouts from his scalp, stubble on his chin, and a thick black meadow of hair down his chest. After several moments the spasms calm to local twitchings.

Hook's closed eyes toss and turn as though suffering nightmares, and then an unfathomable calm sweeps over Hook. Hook's breath steadies and his eyes open, a new man. The Piper straightens up, gesturing for Hook to climb to his feet. Hook rises to his feet with a feeling of newfound strength. The Piper unbuttons the top of his coat, reaches an arm into the elbow of his coat and pulls out an impossibly long item.

"When you face Pan again you will probably want this," Captain Hook's rapier sings its legend to the wind as the Piper drags the shining blade through the air before turning and offering the blade back to its rightful owner. Its song continues to echo through Hook for a moment, resonating deep inside him. 

Hook reaches out, reclaiming the cherished weapon he had thought lost forever in the gut of the croc. Hook re-tightens what remains of his belt around his torn underclothes with his stump and his bad hand before securing his sword to it. He looks up at the Piper and shreds out a grimace-grin.

"Bloody...good...form," declares Hook, being as complimentary as he can be to the Piper. Hook looks down at the clam the Piper gave him before tucking it into his belt. The Piper sidles up, holding his hat down against the ferocious gusts of wind.

"Don't lose that clam Captain, it will be your guide through the Pale Waters."

"The Pale Waters? What would Captain James Hook," the captain asks with a snarl as he lifts his black lattice-covered stump, sees his good hand is missing and frowns, " want in those accursed waves?"

"Your throne of course. Hold the clam to the horizon and it will show you the way." Hook nods as he listens.

"The storm was blowing East-Southeast when last the Pan and I battled near Marooners' Rock. We must be on Mistmoon Island, or Siren's Shore." reckons Hook scanning from the coast-line out to the storm-scorched horizon.

"Very good Captain, this is indeed Siren's Shore. I'm afraid to say the storm was pushing your body ahead of it but now that you are stationary it will be upon you shortly." lightning streaks overhead illuminating the rain like diamonds, sketching the silhouettes of clouds and mountains in the distance. Clouds roll in over the whitecaps bringing solid darkness ever closer.

"How long do I have before you require my steel?"

Slapping him on the back, the Piper smiles and puts an arm around Hook's shoulders shaking him playfully, "Plenty of time m' boy. Enjoy yourself. Take a merboy to bed, drink yourself into a stupor and get into a nice brawl or two." Hook scowls and spits casting his icy gaze to the stormy skies.

"Best we head inland" suggests Hook. 

"You go ahead, chum. My business draws me elsewhere. I trust you understand what you need to do, hmm?"

Hook nods as he turns and begins making his way towards the tree line leaving the Piper without another word.

After a few hours, the storm passes heading further out to sea. The sun had finally started setting behind the frozen summits of the Snow-Tomb Mountains. Hook treks along the coast in search of his crew for hours. He is happy to exchange the burning rays of the sun for the soothing gaze of the Neverlandian Moon which was now sleeping peacefully in the night sky with only the occasional moment of star-shaking snoring. Pain pulsates through the ebony lattice covering his right arm. 

"Captain...captain…" shouts a voice from the nearby shadows. Hook pivots towards the direction of the voice, his sword drawn. To Hook's relief, Mr. Smee materializes from a shroud of bushes nearby. Relieved to see the face of his beloved first-mate and not fully recovered from his brush with death Hook's knees suddenly buckle. He slumps into Smee's arms.

"Sir! We thought you were dead! Relax a moment, catch your breath..." Smee helps Hook to a nearby log. Hook leans forward onto his knees as Smee takes off his coat and drapes it over his captain.

"We cannot have the crew seeing their captain in his longwear," continues Smee. 

"Good form Mr. Smee, good form," Hook painstakingly works his arms into the coat. He rubs his eyes and blinks. Edges sharpen once more and there crouches Smee in his worn and faded robes.

"How did you find me?"

"The storm broke the Jolly Roger to pieces. Me and part of the crew made a quick dash for a dingy and ended up washed up on the same beach as you about a league down current. When I awoke I decided on a ranging and the winds of fortune brought me to you. Truly extraordinary good luck."

"Truly, indeed. Who came ashore with you?" Inquires Hook.

"Bill Dukes, Cecco, Black Murphy, Cookson, and Noodler. A few more have washed up but they were in no shape if you get my meaning sir."

"Is the dingy still seaworthy?"

"Yes sir. We will need to make new oars but I can put the boys on it, have it done by tea time" explains Smee as he leads Hook back to their makeshift camp where he lays Hook down next to the fire surrounded by his comrades, all of whom were sleeping noisily except for the ever-vigilant Cecco who sat staring out to sea. As Smee begins to pull away Hook turns to him.

"Thank you, Mr. Smee. Tonight we will make camp and prepare for portage."

The other men are in sunken and sour spirits when Hook awakens. Angry bitter grumblings flow from the men's lips as they go about their morning activities. Bleedin' Pan. Dirty coward makin' crocs fight his battles. Why hasn't any rum come ashore? Or a barrel of salt pork. Captain Hook's awakening slices through their chagrin igniting an explosion of movement. Broad leafed bushes shake, sand flies up. The men tuck torn shirts into sagging britches lining up side-by-side, backs-straight at-attention as Hook begins walking down the line before them. 

Hook grins and chuckles as he proceeds to inspect his men to take stock of their current condition. Black Murphy is still bleeding slightly from a long gash on his chest, Noodler has no shirt as he has tied its remnants around a wound on his thigh. Cecco is so pale he might have been dunked in milk but appeared unhurt otherwise. Bill Dukes and Cookson are covered in small cuts but one has to look close to notice due to the amount of ink covering Dukes, and the ebony-colored skin of Cookson.

"You are all strong men, a little worse for wear but you have endured much in service to me and it does not go unnoticed. But, there is still much more to do and great glory is waiting for all of us at the end. Now to the matter at hand! Our mistress requires oars" Hook gestures to the oarless dinghy the men brought ashore "so who's going to give them to her?" asks Hook firmly.

"AAAhhh Hooooo!" cry out the pirates in affirmation, scattering into action. Despite their injuries and the loss of the Jolly Roger, Captain Hook's resurrection summons up inside them a new and powerful vigor. A vigor that they had thought lost forever until Mr. Smee had returned to camp in the night with their great captain. Several lemurs and a graxx scurry from the vicinity dashing between the busy pirates chasing after a rather quick furetalla that cunningly takes refuge in a nearby tree.

"Mr. Smee, we have a new destination," proclaims Hook turning to Smee and pulling him aside firmly.

"Where is that sir?" asks Smee attentively.

"The Pale Waters."

Smee stares at his captain bleary-eyed, plagued with sparse stubble. The skin of his face sucks in and tightens for a moment. Battered, sore shoulders pull themselves back, and go rigid as his spine makes physical a cold touch of fear.

"Aye, Captain." Hook strides off toward the beach rubbing his thumb over the Piper's clam in his pocket.

"Begging your pardon Captain but I's don't see the good in lugging our boat over the land. Boats is made for water" replies Cecco meekly.

"I'm once again reminded how that mug of yours hides a dizzying intellect. But you see Cecco, what we are about to undertake will not be like a raid on a village where we get the choice meats and the choice women. It won't even be like boarding a high-class merchant ship filled with silks and caviar. No, no, no. We are going to take the very heart of the Neverlands. I will be its king and you all will be my noble lords." replies Hook, casting his eyes to Cecco with an amused grin.

"Lord Noodler. I likes me da sound a dat." chimes in Noodler, passing by them with a chuckle.

"You see Cecco" Hook pulls Cecco in close wrapping an arm around his shoulder "our portage through the hills will allow us to infiltrate Blackfrost Port undetected by the Port Guard in Raven Cove. Surprise, Cecco will be our greatest weapon in this endeavor." Hook lets go of Cecco, stepping away from him and moving a few paces closer to the water, staring out to sea. Black Murphy uproots some small nearby trees that the men begin shaping into crude oars with stones shattered sharp.

The crew hoists the dinghy onto their shoulders, their arms curled tight around oar bundles as Mr. Smee conducts their efforts. Hook stomps forth ahead of them hacking a path through the underbrush with his sword. With mostly empty bellies the men stop every hour or so to rest. Upon reaching the mountain passes Smee shows them how to lay the oars down and slide the boat over the top with two men picking up the back oar after they passed it and putting it in front until the terrain made such methods of portage impractical. Once in the mountains, it was decided due to the increased possibility of encountering dangerous wildlife that Noodler should climb into the trees and scout-out ahead of them through the dense jungle canopy, scampering from tree limb to tree limb with his bizarre hands.

Moving deeper into the darkening jungle whatever remaining small trees thinned away giving way to ancient massive towering trees and flowering green prickly spires crawling with massive super-colonies of toxic Dreadria Ants. Masses of leaves and thick vines weave overhead into a rapidly thickening canopy. Travel quickly grows even more difficult for Hook and his men as the light becomes more scarce. Smee joins Hook in the role of hacking a path through the Shade Shrubs, Nightmare Orchids, Jungle Fang Lilies and Clumps of Faery Ferns sometimes unnesting groups of their flying namesakes.

The more he swings his blade the more normal Hook feels. He relaxes, thinking back to when he first arrived in Neverland. Much of that time had been spent in the Neverwoods to the west chasing the native Indian girls, or lounging on the rough gray shell of a boulder tortoise. Sometimes he would go on an occasional expedition into this very jungle plucking nuts and fruits from the slow passing Walker Trees as they trudged along their ancestral routes. Many years and ten scores that many pints of Nectar Rum had since dulled those once cherished and vivid memories. All he knew now was head-up and push forward.

Hours pass as they continue their tedious march through the jungle. Whenever the men are not hauling the ship they are scurrying about gathering food. Some collect seeds, roots, and nuts while others spear wild Koalas and Keejos. Hook loved the magnificent taste of Keejos Legs when prepared properly, just put 'em in the fire Monkey fir and all, made 'em crispy on the outside. Their bat-like wings can even be sewn into temporary makeshift water skins. Hook loved the Neverlands, in many ways they are the best thing that ever happened to him, he thought, his determination to save them growing stronger by the moment.

Wild Fairies tickle the men carrying the boat. Hook looks back at his men, this group of salt-infused killers squirming around like filthy children. The wretched high-pitched giggling of the fairies causes Hook's teeth to ache and his fire to rage.

"Mr. Smee! Show these putrid creatures what we think of their games" demands Hook, his tone carries his deep disdain for all things whimsical.

"Aye Captain" replies Smee as he swivels with his elegantly curved blade. The blade whizzes, striking out quick as a viper. Two fluorescent wings disconnect from their tiny owner. Luminescent blood spews from its back. The faerie's glow flickers as the tiny creature spirals to the ground. The fairies try frantically to escape as the terrifying and powerful aura radiating from Smee shakes them to their core. Smee strikes out again with rapid unforgiving precision. Seconds later the remaining fairies litter the ground, dead or on their way to it. Smee casts his blood-thirsty stare at the men reminding them why the slight, mild-mannered man holds the position of First Mate. The crew trembles and hefts the boat resolutely. Smee then turns to Hook. Hook's nonchalance extinguishes the intensity of Smee's gaze.

Hook walks over to Smee and places an affirming arm around him. The two look down at the fairy Smee had just de-winged as it flops around on the ground writhing, puking blood, and screaming with pain. Hook smiles at Smee wickedly. Back in control of himself, Smee gives only a subtle nod and all is understood between the two old friends. Hook brings down his barefoot hard on the wingless fairy grinding it into the ground. The sound of tiny breaking bones and bursting arteries brings them both to a mutual state of momentary euphoria.

"Right men carry on, chop-chop" shouts Hook as he and Smee turn their eyes back to the men. Both of them now feeling rather calm, soothed by the bloody satisfaction that the brutal act they had just committed provided them. After a few more hours marching night finally descended upon the Neverlands. Hook decides that the men should make camp among the Shatter Stone Ruins to protect them from the bitter cold of the mountain's western side. Gathered around the campfire they rest with the hopes that tomorrow's travels would bring them closer to finding some spring waters they can follow to the banks of Blood Creek proper.

Cookson succumbs to sleep first, just an hour after they make camp for the night. Feeling the need for mischief, Bill Dukes catches a yellow-spotted Ambush Spider and places it on Cookson's chest. The arachnid's legs neatly sprawl outward spanning his belly with its two fore-legs lifted in warning. 

"Avast! We've run aground! All hands!" bellows Bill Dukes with a voice spiced with panic waking Cookson abruptly. Cookson's eyes flutter open as he sits up onto his elbows looking around. After a second his vision clears and his eyes swell with fear as he realizes he is face to face with the spider on his chest.

"Eee yee yee yaaah!" shrieks Cookson as he wriggles back to get away but the spider clings to his rags and flares its fangs. He attempts to swat the spider away aggressively with his right arm to no avail but then using his thumb and forefinger he plucks a leg of the spider, tossing it off. The Spider lands on Noodler who swipes down at it several times before fully dislodging it from his thigh. The Spider falls to the ground hissing at them menacingly before turning and scurrying away into the brush. The whole company laughs, Captain Hook the loudest of all.

"Bloody good show! Bravo!" exclaims Hook accompanied by Smee who whistles and cheers as well. Cookson pouts, putting his back to a nearby pillar. He rubs nervously at his neck and arms still feeling the legs of the spider on him. Cookson, catching a glimpse of Bill Dukes grinning like a smartass schoolboy a few paces away, becomes certain of who put the spider on him.

"Ya Bastard! Wha if it ad bit me? Dem are poisonous ya know..." barks Cookson to Dukes. 

"Puttin a nasty thing like 'at on man unawares, and a fellow crewmate ta boot. Special hell reserved fer dem types."

The rest of the crew had stopped listening already. Dukes stretches out beneath a large nearby fir tree, eating some nuts and berries from out of his hat.

Hook takes first watch despite Smee's protest. Hook has never felt more awake, more vigorous, more alert. His muscles are crying out for action, singing a deep excitement inside him. Hook can not believe how warm and alive the worn leather of this sword handle felt. His stub throbs with a powerful itching pain. Feeling rather nimble and brave as if suddenly infused once again with his long faded youth Hook decides to have some fun. Hook looks around first to make sure he is not being observed before abruptly turning and making his way up the nearest snow burdened fir tree strong enough to hold him.

Hook climbs the tree as high as he dares unphased by the freezing touch of the icy white dust. Carefully balancing himself, he walks gracefully and skillfully out on one of the thicker limbs of the tree. At first, he looks down the mountainside for any sign of movement but soon he resigns himself to simply lay back on the branch and watch the Glacier-Light Flies dancing around him carried high on the updrafts rising up the side of the mountain. All through the white glistening slopes are loose pillars of blinking insects, flashing dazzling red, yellow, blue, and purple.

Brilliant waves of light glisten like a steady celestial tide in the heavens above. Suddenly tired, he lets his head fall back, feeling soothed by all the breathtaking beauty surrounding him. He was not looking at the sky to find his way through the markerless sea, he was merely looking. Once again he is infused with nostalgia for those first simple years. He has never felt so powerful, so aware. It was then that an overwhelming sense of certainty and clarity consumes his mind. He can see the entirety of his path laid out before him. In his mind's eye, he can see beyond the forests, beyond his arrival at the Pale Waters, beyond him claiming his rightful place as god of the Neverlands. He can see all the way to the moment he desires most, the moment when Pan's lifeless body would be dangling like a bloodied rag-doll at the end of this sword. His heart and nether regions will be removed with his entrails strewn out spewing streams of red, as his men have their fun with Pan's pathetic and ever-petulant Lost Boys. It was all so clear and soon he would make it a reality. With a heart full of new promise and certainty about the future Hook smiles.

Moments bleed away as Hook sits high up on the branch watching for any signs of trouble. He pulls out the pipe Smee loaned him, beginning to puff away, enjoying the brisk minty taste of Neverland Frost-Hemp. He knows he does not need to really worry much after all the only thing that can really cause him or his men any trouble in the Neverwoods would be a band of stray Indian braves and he doubts they would wander this far from their overly defended spit of land. He runs a finger over the black mark on his stump, to his surprise it was hot to the touch, almost searingly so. When Smee calls up to him saying he would take over the watch Hook dismisses him with a wrist flick.

"Very well Mr. Smee, put your eyes to the bush, I'll take a nice spell of sleep where I am." responds Hook giving into Smee's insistence, after all a nice sleep sounded rather good to Hook right now.

"But Captain, if you turn over in the night you'll…" persists Smee in a concerned voice.

"I'm well aware of the danger Mr. Smee as you are aware how much I detest being questioned, now off with you!" interrupts Hook with a tone of obvious irritation. Hook continues to replay the magnificent moment yet to come of him killing Peter Pan over and over in his mind letting the sound of Peter's tormented screams lullaby him to sleep.

Hook awoke at Cecco's touch, hand on his sword hilt. The still pale Cecco twists the end of his mustache and grins before swinging nimbly down to the ground. A thick unsalted and thus unpleasant film of dew water covers Hook. The thick head of hair that had grown back slick and healthy from the Piper's magic had gone to tangles in his sleep.

The crew unaccustomed to the earthy chill of the forest woke up groggy and out-of-sorts. Hook barks orders and in a short time a fire is built and a pile of nuts, berries and mushrooms is gathered. Black Murphy manages to skewer a rather large wild pig and a delightful luminescent Neverlandian Peacock. These birds spread impressive tail feathers that glow different colors to denote a threat or a mating call. In death, they make a truly fine meal.

After breakfast, the crew puts the boat back onto their shoulders. Trudging on for about two hours, Hook orders the men to take a small break during which a small family of Cherub Monkeys fly by trailing gold traces of Pixie Dust. They push-on for a few more hours passing more wild pigs and Zekra-Cats some of which have gotten caught in the horizontal Tornado-Webs of some local Ambush-Spiders. By mid-afternoon, they find the spring waters of Blood Creek. 

Up went a whoop and a yeehah. Cookson and Black Murphy dance a merry foxtrot around the boat. Cecco tries to do the same with Noodler whose backward hands make it awkward. Everyone gathers water into their hands and drinks their fill.

"Very good men! Now it's only a matter of following the old girl down the mountain until she can handle our vessel." Hook gestures to Smee to get the men back under the boat.

Before he has a chance to relay the order Cecco nudges Smee, "I always did have a problem with others handling my vessel." Smee grimaces at the remark and points Cecco toward the boat.

Two hours down the mountain and the trickle of water they are following swells into shallow rapids. The temperature increases quickly as they descend, shifting the forest back into a humid sweat-box. They follow the river downstream for a few hours but are brought to an abrupt stop by the sight of a large Phantom Stag. The creature stands ten feet tall with dappled green and brown fur. It was colored in such a way that it was nearly invisible in the thick of the forest. The creature wields massive and powerful moss-covered antlers. The beast has its head-down lapping up water from the river. Hook lifts his stump as a signal to stop. Smee sidles up to him silently.

"It still hasn't seen us, Captain. I advise we stay put and wait for it to move on" whispers Smee.

The stag steps deeper into the river, disturbing a Keejo that was hiding below the surface. The amphibious bat jumps from the water spraying the stag's face before flying towards the pirates. The great stag's gaze follows the fleeing Keejo all the way to the crew's current position.

"Shit" growls Hook as the beast locks its eyes on them.

Years of hard living gave the pirates a threatening aura but it was nothing to this behemoth. Phantom Stags are deeply territorial creatures and they were most certainly in the wrong place at the wrong time and they knew it.

The stag snorts meaning at them before letting a low echoing bellow. It paws the ground, shaking its horns causing the moss hanging from them to dance. It takes a step forward and dips its head, then lifts it shaking its horns again. Two warnings.

"No avoiding this one Mr. Smee. We're deep in his rutting ground."

Hook moves forward cautiously. His eyes concealing violence coiled tight. Naked feet carry him up a fallen tree protruding out of the center of the shallow river. The stag rears, stomping the ground once more. The protruding log brings Hook level with the beasts lowered twisting complex of organic spikes. The giant stag churns its front hooves menacingly, appearing like Nature's wrath incarnate. The black lattice surrounding Hook's stump begins to rapidly shift and twist forming into a wicked and deadly looking double-clawed Hook.

"Come and get a blade in your belly you over-sized pony!" he snarls. The beast charges, streaking towards Hook with a ramming mass of horns. Hook draws his sword then uses his position on the log combined with expert timing to front flip over the stag. Hook lands with a loud splash behind the stag, slicing deep behind the creature's knee. The creature roars with pain and rage. The stag turns back to Hook as he swipes with a half-hearted jab towards the stag's chest. It flails its hooves swatting the blade. Turning its head, it aims one set of horns at the soaked Captain. Hook leaps to the side as the stag lunges forward. He reaches out with his new ebony hook and catches the stag's horns. With a tight swing, he mounts the stag.

The stag bucks. Hook holds on to the antlers hard with his bad hand as he plunges his new good hand firmly into the base of the stag's skull. The stag rages, jumping and bucking spraying water from the stream. Dirt and fern fronds fly about. Small logs crack under the beast's great weight. Hook digs his heels into the beast's sides and buries his black couple-bladed hook deeper into the place where the stag's skull met its spine.

The stag jolts forward spasming. Hook face plants onto the creature's neck. When the stag recovers, Hook pulls back out his rapier but it gets caught in the creature's horns, pulling it out of Hook's grasp. The sword disappears into the underbrush.

Hook loses his focus as the stag begins thrashing and spinning like a tornado of fur and antlers. As the beast bounces chaotically Hook gets his feet up on the stag's back, attempting to reposition. The stag rotates and hurls Hook forward between its horns. His good hand maintains its hold at the base of the stag's skull. Hook dangles down the creature's forehead.

Square teeth like splitting mauls dig into the crotch of Hook's pants. Hook squirms as the teeth catch the flesh of his stomach, hips, buttocks. With every bite, he feels the eyes of his crew watching him being flung about like a rag doll. That's when Hook feels it. The cold rage, his old friend, is there but there is something else. Something hot deep inside him jags from the end of his stump to his chest, catching his heart like searing rough tentacles that slam blood throughout his body and infusing every tendon, muscle and membrane with ecstasy. Hook suddenly knows what this feeling is... power. It is the sensation of pointing one finger and watching a legion march in that direction. This time though, the feeling is weaponized.

Screaming, gone manic, Hook heaves himself further-up onto the stag's head. He pulls free his good hand from the beast's flesh and lifts it high. The curved carapace hook catches the beams of light coming through the canopy of trees. Hook brings it down hard. The uncanny appendage sinks into the stag's neck at the base of the skull driving deeper than before. The beast bellows. The sound goes out to touch every leaf and beetle in the forest. Smee and the crew shutter as the forest gasps. The ground twitches and tree limbs curl like toes.

Hook yanks back, his hook cleaving bone and spinal tissue. The stag's legs seizing, it falls. In the drop one of the beast's horns jabs into Hook's right arm, another antler-point stabs into his right calf. He roars, thrusting his ebony weapon even further into the creature's cranium. At last, the spinal cord severs completely from the skull spraying Hook bloody red. Hook's inner-fire blazes hotter, turning his Hook red-hot. He screams even louder as he drags his now-searing hook forward burning a path down the center of the stag's skull. The skull's structure is compromised, it splits completely under the weight of the creature's great antlers. Brain, skin, and cartilage fly into Hook's hair and beard. With the battle finally over Hook lets his body relax on the bank of the river. Hook curses under his breath, his wounds bleeding. Still fueled by the Piper's gift of power he climbs to his feet, yanking the antlers from his flesh. The Captain reaches down to apply pressure to his wounds finding them smoking with strange ephemeral mist. Hook stares with momentary bewilderment as a black carapace lattice forms from out of his flesh covering his wounds.

"Good form." Hook mutters to himself, retrieving his sword. As he rejoins the crew, Bill Dukes removes his soiled cap. Dumbstruck, they fidget and feel a new level of fear and respect blanket their loyalty centers.

"Pick up your jaws men! What are you? Lost Boys in ladies knickers? I will not have it! Smee!" Hook makes vague gestures. Smee interprets turning to the men. They are moving again in moments.

Another hard day burdened by the boat on their shoulders, the crew sets it down with a communal grunt. While Blood Creek has indeed widened into a river it was still not deep enough for their vessel. Last night, they heard the far-off toll of the Blackfrost Bells. When they first heard the baritone voice of the Bells Hook's grin was playful.

"Cap'in…you're dead." declares Noodler amused. Everyone laughs but Smee. Tonight they will ring it again.

As the first two bullfrogs sputter above the cook fire, Noodler barrels into camp. He pants. In his backwards right hand is two fish strung on a line. There are blood streaks on his shirt and forearms.

"I…found… where… where the river deepens."

Hook stands and approaches him. His regrown good hand of shining black carapace itches to lash out and rip Noodler's flesh. Hook controls it.

"We've been following the river for some time now Mr. Noodler. Take a breath and speak properly." orders Hook.

"Yes Cap'in," He straightens himself up and spits. "Not half a mile ahead is a waterfall. Below it Blood Creek gets deep enough for our vessel. A fisherman told me dem folks down in Blackfrost Port thinks you croc food. The Bells is calling the Council to replace you."

Smee steps up to Hook's side, "Sir, from that waterfall it is only a two hours journey to the port. If we leave now we can sneak in when the night is darkest."

"And by then the contenders for my rank will have arrived. Mr. Noodler! That fisherman isn't by chance rowing back to port to tell tales of strange men coming from the forest?" inquires Hook.

"No sir, he said he would meet us at the bottom of the falls and point us in the right direction." Noodler flashes a crooked toothed grin and winks. He raises the fish, "And he said we can enjoy his fish as he knew we must be starving." answers Noodler.

"Good form Mr. Noodler. Good form." continues Hook. He grants Noodler a congratulatory slap on the shoulder.

Finally, Hook and his company of fellow pirates make the last leg of their portage, setting their boat into the waters of Blood Creek proper. The sun hides behind the trees only peeking above their tops with a radiant amber. The fisherman lies by the bank. His throat has a wide red smile and one arm extends downstream toward their destination. Black Murphy hurls the body into the forest. Cecco and Cookson smash the fisherman's boat and scatter the pieces. 

"Alright, men get her in the water and let's get this show on the road. I want Cecco on point with his flintlock at the ready and Smee you shall watch our rear. Cookson, Dukes, and Murphy you are on rowing duty. Noodler you shall be our Spotter and for bloody-sake keep your eyes open men, they don't call it Blood Creek for nothing." declares Hook to his loyal followers.

At midnight comes a second tolling of the bells. The men row even harder. They churn the water flinging spray into the bushes on the bank. Luminescent beetles take flight and several are caught by fast-fingered monkeys. After a long curve where they turn hard to miss a sunken log the lights of Blackfrost port come blazing into view. Among the dim street lamps and the glow from tavern windows, ship masts sway lazily.

"Alright men breathe lightly and don't show your eyes to the moon" warns Hook.

Years of experience slows the crew's breathing. They blow into the town like a silent wind. Their faces turn wicked with excitement. Action and the sea beckon them. The sweet salt-air of the ocean pulls them forward as on strings. For Hook, there is something else, a blurry vision that promises to become clear. He squints into the darkness and smiles.


	2. Alice's Evidence Redux:

**Chapter 2**

**Alice's Evidence Redux:**

  
**( 1911 A.D., The Royal City of Hearts, The Land of Hearts, Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

  
"OFF WITH HER HEAD!" shouts the Red Queen at the top of her voice. Nobody moves as Alice regains her monstrous size towering over the courtroom.  
"Who cares for you at all? You're nothing but a pack of cards!" proclaims Alice. At this, the whole court of royal guards rise into the air and come flying down upon her soliciting a great scream from Alice, half of fright and half of anger, as she succeeds at beating them off of her. Alice turns crashing a massive hole in the wall; storming out of the courtroom and into the Wonderland Forest.  
Alice bolts between thick trunks. Many broad, shiny leafed bushes rake her arms with shark skin texture. Her dress tears on sharp limbs and briars as she surges. After the initial pain from the scrapes passes a pleasant new sensation pulses through her. It spreads through her body in waves. Alice has never felt these sensations before. They crash into her mind making the world appear oil-painted. She touches the plants, feeling like she can smear the color but when she examines her hand it's clean.  
A familiar image morphs out of the air before her as she sees a multitude of cat smiles stretched out through the painted world around her. She tries to focus on the nearest smile but it disappears. The trees are so dense she feels trapped in a shrinking closet. The walls of trees and shadow shift as she moves through them. Pushing aside a drooping sunflower she finds a badger in front of an easel. On the easel is a painting of a badger in front of an easel.  
"Would you stop moving? I'm trying to fix your ears."   
"I would but I'm trying to finish his feet and he keeps moving." replies a smaller voice.  
"Look, both of you stop moving. When I've finished your ears then you can finish his feet." booms a mighty voice from above as a shadow covers the badger and his work. Alice looks up to see a long brush descending from the sky. It lances towards the badger. Alice screams and leaps back. The badger jumps at her voice and the tip of the brush smudges the badger's right paw. His brush falls into organic detritus.  
"Blast it, girl! You made him move!" booms a thunderous voice from above the clouds sending Alice running off through the trees once more. After what feels like a thousand years of running she collapses, sprawling out on the floor of the dense darkened forest breathing heavily with exhaustion. Tears overtake her.  
"Now I know you're mad. Who weeps after they are triumphant?" The Cheshire's voice dances from a disembodied mouth that shifts out of a nearby branch with the rest of the cat's ethereal body only semi-condensing into form.  
"Over whom have I triumphed? I'm lost in a forest that has no end and I'll never get back home." sobs Alice as the Cheshire Cat swings down from the branch and crouches in the shade of some giant pansy flowers. His form comes to Alice as impressions. The line of his back, which in fluxing spasms shows itself to be the cut of a leaf. The glow of his eyes waning and waxing. His long narrow smile is the most solid of his aspects.  
"Who told you this forest has no end?" asks Cheshire.  
"Is it not endless?" queries Alice between savage sobs and burning tears.  
"Well, you were not in the forest when you were in the courtroom right?” Alice nods weakly as she listens to the cat’s  
words.  
"So would it not make sense that if the forest ends at the City of Hearts then it should also end at other places too?"  
"Oh, all this is just too much! I want to go home," whimpers Alice beating the ground with her fist.   
"Well there is only one way to do that," replies Cheshire.  
"You mean there is a way?" asks Alice her eyes crying out for hope.  
"If you're here there must be. Doors open both ways after all. The only question is are you strong enough to make the journey?"  
"Journey?" responds Alice confused.  
"There is a tower, pale as the moon, that lies beyond this shadowed forest over the Wall of the Farthest Edge and passed the Mountains of the Forbidden North. If a way home is what you truly desire only there will you find it," explains Cheshire grin growing wider. Alice climbs to her feet, her body still trembling as she wipes the tears from her eyes.  
"Then I will go at once." proclaims Alice firmly.  
"Take heed Alice this journey is not for the weak-willed. It will require courage and determination far beyond that of a mere child. If you do not make it to the tower by the final midnight of the second month of your journey the path to the tower will become lost to you. You will never be able to return home and you will be left to wander this forest forever." Alice's spirit wavers slightly as the frigid touch of fear slithers up her spine.  
"Thank you dear cat, I am forever grateful to you" declares Alice as she makes her way over to Cheshire embracing him warmly in her arms.  
"I am glad I can help but hear me dear Alice, the path you must take is guarded not by mad queens or foolish cards but by the foulest of beasts and the most wicked of monsters. Be vigilant, be brave."  
"I understand," responds Alice nodding as she turns her back to Cheshire and takes off at a full sprint into the woods, heart filled with all the determination she can muster. After about an hour of running Alice comes to a much-needed stop. Out of breath and exhausted she stumbles forward slowly passing beyond the tree-line into a large circular clearing of luminescent purple and blue grass waving in the wind. The ethereal clearing is speckled with sleeping dandelions and chattering roses conversing among themselves concerning Alice's intruding presence. The flowers are far larger than any she has ever seen and apparently are of a far more suspicious nature concerning strangers.  
Alice can see a massive flower bulb towering in the center of the clearing. It's then she feels it, a touch against her ankles, as blue and purple glowing vines begin spiraling their way up between her legs, over her private places and then up further as they start to coil around her stomach and across her breasts, feeling every part of her. Smaller vines sprout out from the larger ones and begin tracing the contours of her face. She feels hot all over as a sudden weakness overcomes her. The smell of the vines fills her nostrils and saturates her skin. The large flower bulb in the middle of the clearing shimmers with an unearthly aura of light as it blooms. From out of the bulb wafts a familiar voice.  
"That's enough, she is safe... or at least she is no threat. Not to me anyway." declares the familiar voice as there lounging in the middle of the bloomed flower bulb is the Caterpillar from before, smoking his hookah and giggling to himself gleefully. The vines heed their master's command and stop their increasingly invasive groping. Little murmurs can be heard as they return to the ground sulking.  
"I'm sorry about my touchy vines but they are just very protective of me you see," muses the Caterpillar.  
"They are a bit invasive," replies Alice, fixing her dress.  
"They can be when they are enjoying their job more than usual or when they are especially concerned for my well-being. Of course, I apologize, my dearest little one."  
"Tell me please Mr. Caterpillar, do you know of the Wall at the Farthest Edge?" asks Alice.  
"Of course, and you must not dally to get there, a long journey awaits you already and everything depends on your success." responds the Caterpillar sternly.  
"What do you mean by everything?" queries Alice confused.  
"Why everything that is to come of course but no time for that now. There is a train station about an hour north of here with a train you must catch, it should take you straight to the base of the Wall." explains the Caterpillar.   
"A train, how convenient." chuckles Alice.  
"Yes but you must go now. Make haste or you will never catch it. When you get there check your right pocket after all trains require tickets." orders the Caterpillar as Alice nods and runs off towards the train station.  
The forest rolls up and down thinning out into large swaths of meadow patched with dark glades. Rounding a group of trees housing a raucous family of parrots Alice, at last, reaches the train station. Its ornate, blazing lanterns light up the boardwalk and its surroundings. Attendees lean from compartment doorways howling 'all aboard!'. As Alice hurries into the closest car she sees countless tiny legs protruding from beneath the train car. To her shock, the whole train appears to be a massive centipede with compartments strapped to its back using reinforced leather. Alice boards the train just as the doors close behind her. She lets herself collapse onto a nearby seat as the train begins to move. Checking her right pocket she finds a train ticket has somehow made its way into her possession. In the train are aardvarks and badgers, hamsters and kingfishers, a welsh corgi and an iguana, bears and wombats. Some eat silkworms, others…curried cauliflower. Clover scented smoke plumes up between seats. Newspapers fwap open. The mood is that of settling in, cozy and familiar.  
Alice sinks comfortably into her aisle seat. Beside her, a brown spotted spider sips from a cup so small it can only hold a single drop of tea.  
"Hello," says the spider, tipping its hat to her.  
"Hello to you tiny spider. It's very nice to meet you. Do you know who will be checking my ticket?" asks Alice politely.  
"What do you mean? No one will check your ticket little one. You just need it to get on the train. I mean checking tickets sounds like just about the silliest job there can ever be." replies the spider amused.  
"Well, that makes sense I guess. Still, they are very trusting not to check it," replies Alice putting the ticket back into her pocket. The spider moves his tiny cup to his fangs and sips. A large golden labrador pushes a fully-loaded silver cart down the aisle. The cart is loaded with snacks, treats, soups, salads and all manner of gourmet meals alongside an oversized pot of tea and all sizes of cups.  
"Would you like some tea?" asks the dog in a thick Welsh accent.  
"I'm not sure. I'm very tired. I wouldn't want to fall asleep and let it get cold," answers Alice, yawning deeply.  
"Cold you say. Now, why would your falling asleep affect the weather, my lady? Perhaps just a small nip of tea then?" presses the labrador.  
"Um okay... yes. Perhaps a small nip would be nice. Thank you." sighs Alice in surrender.  
"One small nip of tea!" declares the labrador causing the top cup on a stack of tiny cups to spring to life, jumping down off the stack of its fellow cups. The tiny teacup makes its way over to the teapot which smiles gleefully in response. Alice notices the teapot has no spout, just a face infused with enthusiasm. As the teacup closes in on the spout-less pot, the bottom of the pot morphs and twists forming four legs that raise the pot so that the cup may get below its front curve. The tiny teacup settles itself in front of the pot. Then, a spout forms between the two front legs of the pot which begins to pour steaming hot tea into the teacup. The porcelain skin of the cup and the pot both seem to blush. Once the cup is full the spout vanishes back into the pot and the legs retract lowering the pot back down onto the tray. The tiny cup waddles slowly onto a nearby tea saucer being careful not to spill any of its precious piping-hot contents. The tea saucer then sprouts tiny legs of its own and makes its way over to where Alice is sitting and sits itself down on the small passenger table in front of her.  
"There you go, my lady. One small nip of tea on the house, after all a cute blonde thing like you, does not happen through here every day." the large labrador winks before turning his gaze back to the isle and his duties. The tea tastes herbal, but sweet, like honey chamomile and something else she doesn't know but it has a bitter unfamiliar aftertaste. She lifts a hand to ask for a little sugar to counteract the bitterness but the labrador has already moved on. Not wanting to be a bother she gives up and continues sipping her tea.  
Alice turns to the spider. Her lips tingling from the tea, she starts to ask the spider if he has ever been to the Wall, and how long the trip is (These are of course the most logical questions to ask in this situation.) At the last second, she realizes that she won't get a satisfactory answer to such a question. It will be something like it takes as long as it takes, or some other correct and yet nonsensical retort. Two threads intertwine in the tapestry of her mind and the words to speak become clear to her.  
"Mr. Spider?" coos Alice.  
"Yes, little one?" replies the spider still sipping his tea.  
"Do you know any good stories? I would love to hear one."  
"A story to keep you awake? Or a story to help you sleep?" inquires the spider.  
"Whichever one is your favorite to tell," answers Alice, allowing her head to rest against the seat as the spider begins to tell his favorite story to her. Although Alice listens to the story she does not comment or ask questions as she normally would. Finishing the tea she sets the cup back down turning her gaze towards the curtains covering the windows as they begin to undulate. None of the windows are open so it can't be the wind. It is as if small fingers on the other side of the curtain are gently tugging it. She exhales deeply, drifting off as she feels herself fall inward through her seat until at last, she finds herself standing in the Spider's Story, standing beside the goat with three brains watching him sketch. The world feels slowed and dulled as she finds herself suddenly aware of the true viscous nature of her own skin as she oozes into her chair her mind far away. Cheshire slithers from underneath a nearby suitcase. He smiles at her, dancing his strange jig in the air. Outside the window, bats fly in a great black cloud. Stars shine beside the dozing moon illuminating the grassy meadows below casting shadows beneath short rocky protrusions as millions of tiny legs carry the train across the miles stretched out before them.  
Alice feels lost within the great vastness of herself as the spell of sleep fills her like low-frequency waves of dark weight dragging her even further down into the abyss of herself. The spider sips his tea, droning on about the three-brained goat abandoning his bag of tools as Alice pierces the murky surface of her own consciousness slipping into deepest dream.

****** Alice's Dream ******

  
Jeffrey from school chuckles like a gleeful aristocrat, setting his martini down on the white table linen. All the other tables are occupied. Servers dart back and forth between tables. Alice spears a dainty bite of swordfish. She finds it tasteless but quite good. Jeffrey's line-less face smiles at her, hair slicked back with pomade in his fine tailored tweed jacket.  
"History lessons would be so much more enjoyable if Mrs. Brisby wouldn't gloss over the dirty bits, don't you agree?" asks Jeffery with a smirk, the dark glint of his eyes hiding something sharp and dangerous that she cannot decipher. Everything feels hyper-mundane as if distilled into some form of normal far purer than normalcy.  
Realization of the current setting strikes Alice abruptly causing her to scatter her attention all around excitedly. I must be back in England she thinks to herself. I'm back but how? Oh, what does it matter? I've finally returned to my old life. How long have I been gone? Questions swirl around frantically in her brain.  
Jeffrey from school lifts his empty glass, gesturing to the passing help that he needs another martini. Alice takes stock of herself finding she is dressed in a tight, red dress. Her legs are crossed, the slit in the bottom-sides of her dress exposing the top of her legs. She notices her child-feet are stuffed into black thigh-high boots with long slender heels. She grimaces daring not to stand for fear of falling or stumbling and looking foolish.  
"A toast." declares Jeffrey hefting his new martini meaningfully.  
"To what?" responds Alice confused not hearing herself, but knowing she said it.  
"To our tenth anniversary, you don't think I pulled strings to get us in here just because it is Thursday?" answers Jeffery, voice a mixture of bewilderment and offense.  
"No, of course, happy anniversary dear." Alice raises her glass of pinot grigio. A dull slithering of uneasiness writhes in her heart. I feel like I should be happier, she thought. My handsome husband has taken me out to the best restaurant in town for our tenth anniversary. Why am I not ecstatic? She tries to remember if she has ever felt extreme joy or even mild happiness in a dream. She can recall being  
frightened in several dreams, but never happy. Perhaps this accounted for the washed-out nature of the scene she wonders to herself.  
"What shall we do this evening darling? Hurry home and cuddle up next to a nice romantic fire and talk about the local football matches?" chimes Alice with a giggle. Jeffrey from school was always talking about the local football matches. He was always so passionate about the game and not half bad at playing it.  
"Actually, I had other plans for this evening," whispers Jeffrey in her ear as he moves his hand under the table sliding it up past her thigh and under her dress. He looks at her in a way she does not understand. Her heart jolts. At first, she thinks she is afraid however she can feel another more exciting feeling blazing somewhere in the back of her mind ignited by the heat of the moment. Something  
new is happening to her... in her. She feels feverish, poisoned by a toxic concoction of fearful confusion and arousing curiosity. It's so amazing that I still feel this way about my husband after all these years thinks Alice to herself, wait how many years has it been? But I'm not that old or am I? How old am I? How old is he? He still looks like the boy from school? Stop... What's going on? Where is his hand going? I have never done this or have I? No… surely not, never I am still only a child what's he doing? He's still a child too. We aren't old enough to be married. Questions strike like lightning scorching the storm cloud of her  
mind.  
Why can't I breathe? Why can't I move? What is this tense, tingling sensation burning inside? Time passes in fast-forward. People get up from their tables. New people arrive. Alice doesn't recognize any of the other faces. All of the other diners are real adults. They are all talking but she can't take any of it in. Their words crash over her and drain away. Her insides twist into a tight wrenching nodule of anticipation. Something is going to happen, something I want, something I need badly, but what?  
Jeffrey yanks her hand. They run. She trips in the heeled boots and bumps tables flinging them about the room with awesome power scattering glass and utensils. What about the bill? We haven't paid! They are outside. Meteors rip through the sky plummeting down upon the city around them trailing ash. They run over strewn piles of bombarded cement. Over mounds of debris and down into craters and then back up. Tension builds up in her hips. Running becomes harder, her muscles clenching tight preventing her from moving, or is the dress constricting her? The frantic energy accelerates towards some grand cataclysm, some apocalyptic explosion that will bring erasure. It's coming, it's coming. They stop, looking up as a great darkness consumes the sky. It descends as it expands. A new kind of scream comes out of her, soundless and penetrating. Alice awakens, still screaming.  
Well-dressed fruit bats flap their wings in agitation. Anteaters extend their tongues in annoyance. The train has stopped. Two Pomeranians step in dragging burlap sacks. Alice hears loud barking commands coming from the car ahead of her. Alice leans to look. Several of the Red Queen's Cardmen point weapons at passengers, yapping orders to move. They brandish a picture and ask the passengers something.  
Without a second thought, Alice says goodbye to the gentlemanly spider and hurries off the train. Other passengers carry suitcases up and down the platform. Attendants cry 'all aboard!'. The train doors close and the million tiny legs ripple with movement once again.  
After the glimpse of the cardmen on the train, Alice feels even more certain of the target on her back, like a million predatory eyes watching her every move. Her body feels surprisingly well-rested yet still slightly numbed from the tea. She bolts around the station to avoid being detected by any of the cardmen looking for her. Roads stretch out from the station platform in all directions. She looks farther down the tracks and off in the distance stands the Wall of the Farthest Edge looming the whole stretch of the horizon like a towering mountain range cut uniform by godly scissors. 


	3. World as a Passing Blur

**World as a Passing Blur:**

**( **1925 A.D.,** Nornland, Scotland, Greater Germania )**

John Darling sits resting his head against the window of the train. He stares out, the world existing only as a passing blur of landscape as his mind drifts back to the day that changed his life forever. He wishes he had stopped his sister from going, he wishes they had not listened to Peter but they were just children then and he was the boy in the window offering to set them free. The time they spent with Peter from that first leap out of the nursery window to the night they returned home flying through a sea of stars from a land of dreams had been filled with wonder and excitement but for all the joyful memories of adventure it had given them it could never have been worth the toll it would have on their lives and their family after their return home.

The happiness and euphoria that was so present upon the night of their return before long turned to destructive anger and fear. That first night after they came back their parents were just happy to have them home again and did not force the question of where they had gone or how they vanished from the nursery the night they left the world behind. Mr. Darling had even been willing to take in the Lost Boys but it was not long before their parents began to want answers and it was quickly apparent the truth would serve only to bring damnation to all of them.

They knew their parents would never believe a truth so much stranger and more wonderful than any fiction. Wendy did her best to tell their parents a story she thought they could believe. At first the story seemed to work. Wendy did her best to shield her siblings and the Lost Boys from most of the questioning but the holes in their story began to become bigger and more numerous as their parent's questions continued to flow. In the absence of the truth, their parents settled on the idea that what really happened must have been so horrible that their children themselves were too afraid to accept it. That was when he came and changed everything.


	4. Vincent Frost

**Vincent Frost** **:**

**( 1913 A.D., London, England )**

Bitter cold blankets London in a shimmering layer of white. Mr. Darling exits the bank exhausted, his uncommonly difficult day at work finally over. He trudges toward home. Everything feels heavy, his overcoat, his briefcase. Even his mind feels heavy under the relentless burden of the same churning questions. Where had they really gone? Who are these jungle wildlings that accompanied his children home? Why does Wendy lie to him? She never used to lie, not to him.

The stress of the day and the mounting feelings of betrayal from his daughter makes the bitter pain in his chest feel even worse. A chilling gust of wind hits Mr. Darling from behind pushing his slicked-back hair forward into his eyes. He smooths his hair back into place as he stumbles off the curb and slips into the deep slush of the gutter soaking his pant leg. Cursing privately he shakes his foot.

He has not been thinking clearly all day, distracted by the simmering anger boiling in the background of his mind but tonight he will finally have his answers. Oh she will talk tonight. By God, I'll see to it that she talks! As he stomps across the street, determined to make it home in record time until suddenly all the street lamps as far as the eye can see flicker and go dark.

The frigid winter wind vanishes. In its place comes an unnerving feeling of absolute stillness as if the world has stopped spinning. Silence takes over, stretching the moment taut. A cold hand of fear takes hold of Mr. Darling's heart as he yelps, spinning towards the soft crunching sound of footsteps approaching him from behind. His heart races. Just keep moving old boy! Why are you cringing like a child? Despite the self-chiding, Mr. Darling finds himself unable to move. Summoning up all his strength he manages to turn towards the source of the approaching footsteps to find the approaching outline of a stranger cloaked in the shadows of the night approaching him. 

Mr. Darling tries to hail the newcomer, give him a quip about the weather or some such but nothing comes out. He finds himself gutless and voiceless until at last the stranger closes in on him bringing him clearly in Mr. Darling's vision. The stranger is a smiling pale-skinned man dressed in black slacks and a long black coat with silver buttons. The stranger draws jabbing the ground hard with the end of his matching silver walking stick causing the chill around Mr. Darling to intensify. It is as though all the heat of the world was being sucked away into the smile of the stranger. Mr. Darling pushes his wire-frame glasses further up his nose and smiles foolishly back to the stranger despite himself.

"You startled me sir, I'm embarrassed to say but I thought a mugging was on the menu." nervously quips Mr. Darling timidly.

The stranger chuckles goodheartedly as sound and movement return to the world. Mr. Darling hugs his coat closer against the sudden arctic chill assaulting his senses. The street lamps flare back to life, shining off the golden hair and moon-colored eyes of the stranger.

"Hello Mr. Darling, my name is Vincent Frost and I am here to help you." says the stranger smiling warmly. He extends his hand to Mr. Darling who hesitates cautiously for a moment before gingerly giving Vincent a limp wristed handshake.

"Wha… what do you want?" asks Mr. Darling. Vincent slides in and puts a brotherly arm around Mr. Darling's shoulders, guiding him further along his route home. Mr. Darling shivers but not from the cold, from something deeper, he isn't sure what.

"I want what you want: the truth. The truth about what happened to your children that night. Where did they go? And most mysterious of all, why did they go?" answers Vincent cooly. Mr. Darling stiffens at the mention of his children. He turns on Vincent pushing him away, his earlier rage returning in a flash.

"How do you know about that? Were you involved? Trying to cover up your mistake now? Come clean or I will go to the police straight away." demands Mr. Darling snarling.

"Come now Mr. Darling, may I call you George? You really are in a foul state right now, aren't you? As I said before, I'm only here to help and the organization I represent is far more capable of helping you in a special situation like this. This matter may be more than a little outside of the jurisdiction of London's constabulary." continues Vincent with an amused laugh.

"I don't know who you are or what you think you know about me and my children but we are just an ordinary family and if you ever come near my kids I'll.." presses Mr. Darling grabbing Vincent's collar roughly.

"You'll what?" interrupts Vincent, still chill and smiling. Icy lightning jolts through Mr. Darling's hands as if the blood in his veins has just been flash-frozen. He abruptly lets go of Vincent's collar, stepping back.

"I must admit, I didn't think you had it in you." chides Vincent his voice brimming with approval as he fixes his collar.

"Was that you?" asks Mr. Darling, rubbing his hands together desperately trying to restore any semblance of heat to them.

"Was what me?" responds Vincent, smirking coyly. Vincent again steps towards Mr. Darling causing Mr. Darling to start back-peddling defensively.

"This is absurd, you just stay away from me and stay away from my family." roars Mr. Darling through gritted teeth before turning and starting to make his way home once again.

"There is more to this than you know, we will speak again soon," shouts Vincent to the now quickly fading outline of Mr. Darling.

Shrugging to himself Vincent turns his gaze to the night sky. The cold clear blackness of night emboldens the shine of stars like radiant speckles of a robin's egg. Then with a soft inaudible whisper, Vincent flurries into nothingness on the chill winter wind.

Mr. Darling opens his front door and sighs as he steps briskly through the threshold. The heat from the hearth envelopes him ushering the frigid night air back out the door. Mrs. Darling welcomes him home, still practicing a soothing sonata on the piano. Over the gentle tune, he hears the sounds of Nana wrangling Slightly, Tootles, and Nibs into the upstairs bathtub. The moment feels so pedestrian Mr. Darling can almost let himself believe that his meeting with Vincent Frost had been a mere dream, an exercise of his overworked mind. But then he thinks of Wendy and the hope recedes.

Mr. Darling doffs his top hat and coat hanging them on the rack by the door before making his way over to the piano and kissing his wife's cheek. Mr. Darling hopes either the heat from the crackling fire or her wife's radiant warmth would thaw the chill that has been growing inside him ever since Vincent had placed his arm around his shoulders.

"How were the kids today?" asks Mr. Darling as he straightens his stance, pulling a small cloth out of his vest pocket and wiping his glasses.

"Fine. They miss you when you are gone at work but the day was, for the most part, uneventful. John is sleeping over at the Winstons' again tonight and Michael has been playing with the rest of the boys upstairs most of the day. Though he was upset earlier as it seems he has misplaced his bear; Mr. Teddilson." replies Mrs. Darling sighing. She stops playing and looks towards her husband with a half-hearted smile.

"And where is Wendy?" asks Mr. Darling, casting his eyes toward the stairs.

"Where else…" responds Mrs. Darling flatly. Averting her attention back to the piano. She picks up the piece where she left off and begins playing once more.

Mr. Darling breaths in deep for a moment hoping to push out the creeping dread rising in him as he makes his way upstairs. He finds Wendy staring out the open window of the nursery, just as she has been every night since their return. Gentle lips meet soft brown hair as he leans in and places a fatherly kiss on Wendy's head. She jumps at his touch, snapping out of her trance. Wendy turns and hugs her father's waist. He knows she is saying 'see father I'm okay, I'm still here'.

"Wendy… Wendy… my precious Wendy. Why do you sit and pine for the stars every night?" asks Mr. Darling softly.

"It is not the stars father, it is what lies beyond them," replies Wendy with dismay and longing.

When he told his colleagues at the bank about his children's return some had joked they had been taken by beings from another world. He pretended to be busy in an attempt to shut out their jibes deciding to never confide in any of them again. Remembering this stokes his anger. The stress of the day and his bizarre encounter with Vincent flood his mind.

"Wendy please… your mother and I love you, we only want to help you. I beg you, tell me the truth," pleads Mr. Darling, clutching his daughter closer to him.

"I'm sorry father, but you seek something I cannot give you," she pushes away from him.

"Cannot or will not?" Mr. Darling snarls with frustration.

"Pick one" replies Wendy with exasperation. A loud crack echoes throughout the room as Mr. Darling's hand connects with Wendy's face. She crashes hard to the floor.

"It appears I will have to take more aggressive methods to find out the truth," growls Mr. Darling. He slicks back his hair trying to regain his composure before striding out of the nursery, leaving Wendy sobbing on the floor.

"I tried again with Wendy tonight," says Mr. Darling as he buttons up his pajamas.

He lays his watch and glasses on his nightstand and climbs into bed next to his wife. He snuffs the last candle beside the bed and stares at the darkened ceiling. Gradually his hands and feet warm beneath their winter quilt but the frigid shard of cold in his chest remains.

Mrs. Darling shifts sleepily towards him, "How did it go?".

"Same as before except this time I… I..." says Mr. Darling, his voice shaky with regret, and frustration.

"You what?" Inquires Mrs. Darling propping up on her elbow. Her face is vague in the gloom but Mr. Darling knows the expression it has.

"I hit her… For the first time in her life, I hit her. I have never hit any of our kids before, but I was just so…"

"Afraid?" she finishes, placing a soothing hand on Mr. Darling's cheek.

"Yes… afraid, we are losing her. All she does is stare out that window every night searching the heavens for who knows what. She hardly eats, she hardly speaks to us. I know you feel it too."

Mrs. Darling lays back, not answering for a time. "I have felt a kind of distance between us, even when we are sewing, which used to be our special time together without the boys and all. But what can we do?" inquires Mrs. Darling.

"I don't know..." the sentence dissipates into the quietness of the room. The moment passes and they each retreat inward. Mrs. Darling thinks of the chores she will have to do tomorrow and which boy she will have help with each task. Mr. Darling thinks of Vincent and other worlds and a crying Wendy holding her cheek on the nursery floor. He cries inside silently as he searches for sleep in the darkness.


	5. Lost Boys Found

  
**Lost Boys Found:**  
 **( 1913 A.D., London, England )**

  
Morning sunlight parades through the partly cloudy winter sky. It sparkles on the frozen surface of the Thames River.  
Mr. Darling sits on a nearby riverside bench lost in thought. He stares out over a gathering of skaters frolicking on the ice, one  
hand in his coat pocket fingering the corner of the note he found in his mailbox. It read simply: Meet me for lunch at your  
favorite bench when you are ready. -Vincent.  
For three days Mr. Darling avoided the place. Instead, he takes his lunch at his desk stewing in sour thoughts. Now,  
sitting on the bench waiting for the stranger, he is afraid the bench will never again be the respite it had been the past few  
years. He glances at his lunch but the anxiety twists his stomach again and he resolves to go hungry. A gust of wind hits his  
neck. He tugs his collar up against the chill as a hand, colder than the wind touches his shoulder.  
"Mr. Darling! I am delighted you decided to finally accept my invitation. I know this must be very confusing," says  
Vincent as he takes a seat on the bench next to Mr. Darling. Vincent leans back against the opposite armrest, crossing his legs  
and draping one arm across the back of the bench.   
Mr. Darling frowns and hugs his coat tighter.  
"Listen, I don't appreciate a stranger butting into my family's affairs. Now tell me who you are and what you want,"  
says Mr. Darling, summoning every gram of indignation at his disposal.  
"Very well," replies Vincent. "Let's see...where to begin?" He tilts his head back thinking briefly.  
"I work for a….non-profit called The Pact of Adam. We provide several kinds of services and during our routine  
business, we caught wind of your situation. Here look… we have already discovered the true identities of those boys you have  
staying with you. It would appear the Lost Boys were not always so lost after all." continues Vincent as he pulls a set of files out  
of his briefcase.  
"First on our list is this child, do you know him?" asks Vincent, revealing a picture of a young boy sitting on his  
mother's lap.  
"Yes... he is the one they call Slightly… so he was not always so dirty and wild-looking," Mr. Darling finds himself  
smiling and pulls it back in.  
"Indeed, the boy you call Slightly was once known as Jared, of 251 B Baker Street, went missing twenty years ago. He  
was the second son of the well-to-do Mr. and Mrs. Willard, the case was originally handled by one Detective Holmes and his  
partner Dr. Watson but even they were unable to provide a logical explanation for Jared's highly mysterious disappearance."  
"This can't be right… it can't be…. went missing over twenty years ago, that's just not possible. He doesn't look a day  
older than this photograph. It's just impossible" replies Mr. Darling, shocked.  
"Impossible like your children vanishing without a trace out of a second-story window in the middle of the night?"  
counters Vincent.  
Mr. Darling straightens himself and pushes his glasses higher on his nose, "Look I am sorry but what you are asking  
me to believe is simply preposterous."  
"I do understand that this goes against conventional wisdom but allow me to plead my case. When I'm finished if you  
still believe me to be a charlatan we will part ways as gentlemen, fair?"  
"Very well, continue," replies Mr. Darling with a sigh of surrender.  
Vincent opens another file and produces a photo of a young boy standing in front of a wall with paisley wallpaper. He  
is wearing coveralls with a stained shirt underneath.  
"That's the one called Tootles," responds Mr. Darling.  
"Yes well, Tootles was once Shawn W. Prestin, an orphan who went missing sixteen years ago."  
Then another photo with a group of children standing beside a rose bush. He points at a boy in the front missing one  
of his front teeth. "This is Richard G. Fisher, you probably know him as Nibs." In another group photo, Vincent taps the image of a  
boy with a mop of hair, sticking his tongue out.  
"And this one I believe you know as Curly, given name Gideon Andrew Sullin. They went missing around the same  
time eleven years ago. And here's a photo of the twins Samuel and Jacob Muldrow who went missing about six years ago."  
continues Vincent.  
Mr. Darling gawks as Vincent shows him photographs of all the children currently making forts from piles of books  
and sheets in his house. It's as though his mind has been thrown into a rock tumbler. He smooths back his hair with a gloved  
hand lost momentarily in deep thought.  
"How can this be?" he mutters softly to himself as Vincent smiles.  
"I'll tell you what we know. All these boys except Slightly were orphans who went missing from Kensington Gardens  
Orphanarium. Slightly is a bit of an anomaly as he was the only one that came from a well-to-do family and was taken from an  
actual family residence, that is until your children were taken. And until your children returned, none of them had been seen  
again. You say they appear to be the same age as in these photos?"  
"I believe so. They are definitely not as old as they should be. But why did they come back now? My children were  
only gone a couple of days." answers Mr. Darling.  
"That is something I would like to find out, with your permission of course. Oh! I almost forgot, " Vincent rummages  
through his briefcase and pulls out a very old sketch of a boy's face. The paper is yellow with age and is held in a thick glass  
case. The sketch was well done but not detailed. He presents it to Mr. Darling.  
"No, I don't know him. Is he another missing orphan?" asks Mr. Darling curiously.  
"Another anomaly, all we know is that he went missing like the other boys from the area now known as Kensington  
Gardens. But, this boy went missing sometime around the year of 810 A.D.. Most of my colleagues think I'm reaching but can I  
tell you my theory?" he continues without waiting for an answer. "I think this boy is the first, and maybe even the cause of all  
these other disappearances."  
Vincent puts the sketch and all the files back in his briefcase and snaps it shut.  
"Right, well...this has been fascinating don't get me wrong but how does knowing this help me with my daughter?"  
asks Mr. Darling politely.  
"It helps because there is likely more to the truth than even she knows and the more we know the more we can help  
her without her telling us anything if need be. However, if you do insist on getting the truth from her directly we do have better  
methods than hitting her" explains Vincent cooly. Mr. Darling looks down at his hands, head burdened with shame.  
"Now before we go any further I must insist on behalf of the organization that I represent that we make this  
arrangement official. Here is how this will work; you give us your oath of secrecy and allegiance and in exchange, we will not  
only help you get the truth but we will also open your eyes to the world that lies behind this one. So do we have a deal?" asks  
Vincent, holding out his hand to Mr. Darling.  
"Yes… I suppose we do" answers Mr. Darling as he shakes Vincent's hand. Somewhere in a white tower a chandelier  
grows another jewel. 


	6. Under Cover of Night

**Under Cover of Night** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., Blackfrost Port, South-Western Province, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

Catherine Thorn, mistress of Blackfrost port, lounges in her private chambers. The lamplight is low. She twirls a lock of hair and broods. The news she heard while making the rounds has driven her away from the bustle of drunken sailors. Her corset is tight and her high heels still cup her feet snugly. Her father always said that good women were like pianos inside. She can feel her strings right now, and they are taut, over-tuned. And then, of course, there is a knock at the door. A young man steps in.

"Mistress I come bearing the worst of news." begins the young man, his voice soaked with sorrow. 

"Then the rumors are true."

The messenger presents Captain Hook's good hand. Mistress Thorn sucks in a breath but the corset stifles it. She gives no other sign of emotion. She cannot, she must not.

"The wreckage of the Jolly Roger was found by one of our schooners. We sent some pearl divers down to see what they can find…"

The Mistress interrupts by putting her hand out. The messenger gives her the hook. Its curved metal drinks the lamplight. For a moment she stares at the hook, lost in memory. A tear-stained black from makeup slashes down her cheek. She closes her hand on the hook and turns away from the messenger.

"The last real man has died." she declares mournfully but firm.

Powerful silence permeates the room. There is a scuff of feet as the messenger fidgets. The mistress is shattered. She can feel the anger and grief twisting her strings until one by one they snap, her lips turn down in the beginning of the first true sob she has allowed herself in twelve years. With her last moments of forced calmness, she addresses the messenger, "Toll the Bells. We must summon the Council of Lords."

"With haste mistress." replies the messenger bowing low, before clicking his heels and hurrying away out of the room.

Smee directs their landing to a spot outside the light's influence. He addresses the crew with the plan he and the Captain have worked out.

"Right men, our mission is simple. Blood Creek cuts through the center of Blackfrost port. There are fish stands and unloading docks all along the old girl so we can't go paddling straight down her if we want to stay all hidden and such. The element of surprise is crucial to our success."

Mumbles of agreement drift between them.

"Therefore, we will ride our tootsies through the storage quarter to the Dusty Compass. From there Black Murphy will walk calm as can down the main dock…"

Black Murphy tilts his head and scrunches his brow. Smee extends on tiptoes and whispers into his ear. The giant man beams and crosses his arms smugly.

"Mason, you will check for a down anchor. Cecco, you will check for a rudder lock. The rest of us will be the welcoming committee. And if anyone sees you clear enough to know your face, give them your boot knife, even if it's old Pavy."

"Aye, aye." whispers the lot of them to Smee.

Cookson shakes his head, "Lordy I hope it don't come to that. Pavy never done no one no harm."

With that Hook's men become one with the night. Clouds hang thick in the sky allowing through only slivers of dull, silver rays of the moon's light. They move low to the ground, visiting each shadow along their path. Quick and quiet they make their way to the main docks. On the way, they arm themselves with fillet knives and pry bars. The docks are quiet.

Hook cannot help but be amused at the somber faces of the drunkards inside the taverns they pass. They are no doubt mourning the very man who is here to rob them, or at least one of them: Captain Fritz. Hook knows where that man is now, He is no doubt in the Mistress's parlor with the other captains kissing her lotioned feet. Somehow the thought of Mistress Thorn can still pluck a tune on his blackened heartstrings. Hook pauses beside a stack of crates and peers up toward her window. Through the curtains glows steady firelight. He waits for her curved silhouette to grace him. It doesn't come. Smee stops beside him.

"Sir? Is something amiss?"

Hook snickers, "A Miss. Heh heh heh. Smee even when you are ignorant you are still wise." chuckles Hook.

"Sir?"

"Nevermind. Get moving Mr. Smee." Smee nods and proceeds.

The crew skulk single file down the dock and scatter to cover when someone approaches. As Black Murphy snags the neck of the latest interruption Hook feels the emotion again. It buzzes in his mind like a fly and he snatches it from the air. Hook's psyche holds the nuisance by its wings and turns it over examining it. Guilt. A small insect of guilt. The little creature has the Mistress's face and it is weeping. He crushes it.

Best not to think of such things. All will be remedied upon my return.

After about thirty minutes of crouching in the shadows, they make it to the farthest arm of the main docks. Hook assumes that Captain Fritz, being closest in intelligence to himself, would arrive early and choose the closest spot to the open sea. Since Blackfrost Port is protected by the bay he would want to safely put his vessel on the outskirts and be the first ship out on the waves after the council is adjourned.

They cannot believe their luck.

Tied to the farthest arm of the dock is the Stille Jäger. Though smaller than the Jolly Roger it packs a heavy punch in battle and can be operated with a skeleton crew. Hook figures there is most likely only a token guard left aboard but Smee insists on planning for ten men. Tiptoeing into position Hook's trust in Smee is reinforced. Although most of her crew has already found a seat in one of the various taverns; they can clearly hear the voices of six different men. Hook nods. Smee signals to the men.

Cecco thumbs up signaling that the rudder is free. Mason cuts the main anchor rope. Black Murphy takes the stern mooring line and heaves. He heaves again. Veins bulge in his neck and biceps. His back becomes iron and sweat seeps out. Slowly, the ship begins to float out to sea. Due to the darkness of the night and bottles of rum gifted by the Captain for having guard duty on such an important night, none of the sailor sentries notice the gradual distance growing between them and the lights of the port.

Noodler peeks on deck first. The men are sitting on small barrels around a crate. They are passing a half-empty bottle and slapping cards down. The crew, except for Black Murphy who doesn't even try to pull his huge body up the mooring rope, amass at the lip of the deck. Hook shrouded beside them. At the same moment they all vault over the railing, Hook leaping clean over it. For a moment the surprised pirates just stare at Hook before glancing over their shoulders at last taking note of the significant distance that has currently formed between them and the port. When Captain Hook unsheathes his sword their trance breaks as Hook and his men rush the unprepared pirates.

Their bodies are warm butter to Hook's sword as it passes through breastbone and cleaves through elbow. Blood splatters over the deck. One man grabs a nearby sword and flails out. Noodler jumps back and the man comes to face Hook. The Captain stands just out of reach with his sword in front of him, the man's eyes jump. His grip tightens.

"By god, Captain Hook? Is that you?"

"Very good sailor. What might your name be?"

The man's voice is gruff and quiet yet tinted with a reserved confidence. His comrades' blood drips into his eyelashes from the tip of Hook's blade. He doesn't blink.

"Name's Blickstein."

"Well, Mr. Blickstein as fate would have it I have lost a fair amount of my crew recently. I had planned to slay anyone I found aboard and make do with these fine gentlemen you see around you."

Blickstein's eyes flick to the members before him, "Mm hmm."

"But since you seem to have some fight in you and enough wits not to be taken completely off guard I'm extending an exclusive offer to you. Join my crew and help ease our transition into this new vessel, or join your friends here."

The man thinks for only a moment, "I'm your man."

"Good form. Be a swell chap and lower a ladder for our last man dangling off the port side."

Blickstein strides off still holding his sword. Hook nods to Smee who gestures for his men to commandeer the vessel. After a flurry of ropes and unfurling sail the new ship and its crew casts off for the Pale Waters.

Infused by sudden elation, Hook rushes to the Captain's Quarters. He returns to the main deck smiling at his men with a large, dusty bottle of Neverlandian Spiced Rum in his hand. He breaks the wax seal. Then with a manner of jubilant mock ceremony Hook pops open the bottle and takes a large swig before handing it off to Smee. They pass the bottle and shout congratulations up into the sails. Soon enough they are out in the open sea and the darkness of the night erases them from view.

Hook left Smee with Blickstein to get the men acquainted with the ship. His new hook is burning and itching. He shuts himself in the Captain's Cabin and rolls up his sleeve for a better look at the situation. Hook finds that Black chitin now fully caps the end of his arm with numerous tendrils stretching halfway back up the forearm. He grips the hook that had formed from his stump during the battle with stag and shakes it. It's connected to his bones. He prods the edges and tries to get a fingernail under it but it's seamless. The chitin is a part of him.

The Captain's Cabin is smaller than the one on Jolly Roger. One wall has a sturdy lattice for holding bottles of rum and wine. There are weathered scrolls here and there among the bottles. A bag of apples hangs from the ceiling. It sways as the ship climbs waves. A glass-fronted cabinet holds the last captain's treasures: large sapphire pendants, a jaw bone with four gold teeth in it, a dried monkey hand with only three fingers, a weathered spyglass with carved initials. As he turns away something catches his eye. A string hangs down from one of the corners. He opens the cabinet and finds a small sack floating up against the cabinet's ceiling.

"Fairy dust."

When he plucks the bag down its weightlessness vanishes and it plops onto his palm. Hook frowns. He never can get the stuff to do anything but make him sneeze. Popping open a bottle of wine Hook sits at the desk. He puts the Piper's clam on the desk next to the bag of dust and ponders. His hook runs through his beard. The bag of dust slowly lifts off the desk. He slams a book down on it.

Why have I never sailed out here? I've ransacked every port in a hundred miles from Neverland but never saw fit to venture onto this heading. Something has limited my decisions.

Hook picks up the clam, "What exactly are you leading me to my friend?"

The men gather around the captain's table with a large map of the Neverlands laid out before them. Each of them busy contemplating the question at hand; how to reach the Pale Waters as quickly as possible without being detected. It is obvious to all of them that the first challenge in reaching the Pale Waters will be making it out of the Fryst Sea without being detected by the sentries at Fryst Port or the sentries stationed at the Raven's Torch Lighthouse but then what? After about an hour of discussion, they all agreed the best path would be to sail out of the Fryst Sea via the south west sticking as close as possible to the western shore of Fryst Vilde Tribal Province. This way as long as they sailed swift and silent they should be able to pass by the Raven's Torch Lighthouse and out of the Fryst Sea undiscovered. The decided route works wonderfully, after just a few hours of swift and silent sailing they make it out the Fryst Sea unseen and are well on their way into the vast unknown waters stretched out before them.


	7. The Climb

**The Climb:**

**( 1911 A.D., The Township of Fanoth, Realm of the House of Hearts, Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

Upon fleeing the train station Alice finds this part of Wonderland consists of rolling hillocks with patchy groves of pines and hemlocks. The vibrant colors awakening in the predawn light. Viridian grass writhes in the wind. The dancing amber light of the rising sun bounces off of the red clay roof shingles of the station platform behind. Pink and yellow wildflowers blink and yawn around her speckled through the grass as they rise from their nocturnal slumber. Alice's dress dares the sky to match its blue until suddenly she realizes she has been standing out in plain view mesmerized by the colors. She moves to further conceal herself from detection. Eager to keep pressing onward she sets off down an overgrown side-trail heading towards the wall rising off in the distance while avoiding the main road.  
Finally reaching the end of the trail, she clears the overgrown brush as she crests a large hill. Alice stops and allows herself to catch her breath. The hill slopes down to a flat expanse about five miles long which ends abruptly at the base of the Wall of the Farthest Edge. Sprawling out before her as far as she can see to either side, encompassing the entirety of the five-mile flat land is a town made up of one and two-story buildings. Several streams enter the city from her right disappearing among the structures.  
The buildings along the outer rim of the town closest to her are mostly hovels or shacks truth be told but the farther towards the center of the town, the larger the buildings become. The buildings start alongside the road at the bottom of the hill where she stood. From there they spread-out left, right, and forward growing more condensed closer to the wall. Alice slides down the hill and onto the main road trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.  
Vendors lean from their stalls as Alice passes on the road.  
"Umbrellas! Hey little miss, you've never seen umbrellas like this!"  
"But it isn't raining," responds Alice confused.  
"Then perhaps Flutes! Spatulas! Sweet onions! Everything you need for your next tea party!" the vendor continues. Alice continues walking, turning the corner and starting down main street towards the center of town. Alice looks down the street towards a large ornate central fountain, there are many small and medium-sized shops and stalls lining the street and hurried looking well-dressed mice bustle up and down the sidewalks passing smoking dogs playing dice and a feline street performer playing a flute. There are a bunch of dancing porcelain boys and girls singing as a group of mixed species animal children dressed in school clothes played nearby. The is fragrant with the essence of ginger, sugar, baking bread and cooking meat wafting out of the many restaurants along the road.

A loud noise erupts from the other side of town near where the next train stop is supposed to be; trumpets thunder, loud and furious. Alice takes cover. The trumpets continue as the low roar of stampeding townspeople explodes into a screaming frenzied mass panic. The playing children look up from their saucers of milk and games their faces contorting with terror. Alice crawls beneath a nearby porch. The sound of screaming spreads throughout the rest of the town growing ever louder. A large group of Cardsmen appears, making their way through the town unleashing violence and fear upon all those around them. One of the Cardsmen rushes up to a group of three trembling vicenarian feline girls that seemed to be in the process of hanging their family's clothes out to dry together just moments ago.

"Have you seen a girl? She has long, yellow fur growing from the top of her head but none on her face. She is tiny and pale." asks the Cardsmen, his voice harsh.

The three catgirls, having been so abruptly dragged from their typical daily mundanity just stare wide-eyed with fright at the Cardsmen.

"W… we uhh umm, I mean… that is to say." responds one of the feline girls, her voice weak and stuttering. The Cardsmen growls impatiently as he draws his sword and sinks it into the belly of the stuttering cat girl. The Cardsmen's steeled eyes are colder than the shimmering metal of his blade as he twists his bloodied blade inside her. The catgirl shrieks and writhes in agony as her gory innards pour from her pierced abdomen. The Cardsmen drags his blade forcefully down her stomach until finally ripping the blade free at her groin. The feline girl's lifeless body falls limply to the ground not more than five feet from the porch where Alice lays hiding. Alice covers her mouth to keep from crying out. The remaining two feline girls cower into fetal positions against the wall behind them.

The Cardsmen advance upon them once again. He picks one of the other catgirls back up off the ground by her ears as he pulls out a small dagger and slices off her left ear causing the cat girl to fall back down to the ground. The girl sobs with pain and horror as she picks up her severed ear and tries desperately to reattach it to her now red-drenched head. The Cardsmen grabs the girl once again but by her throat this time pulling her whimpering sobbing face close to his and placing the tip of his dagger just centimeters from her right eye menacingly.

"Cease your crying girl so that I may ask you again, and for your sake, I hope you have a better answer than your first friend did." the girl continues to blather in his grip, fear smothering her sanity

"TELL ME, WHERE IS THE GIRL." screams the Cardsmen into the blood-soaked face of the feline girl.

"Ple… please Sir w… we... don't know a… about any girl sir!" responds the pleading cat girl as the Cardsmen proceeds to choke her even harder causing the girl to cough-up bursts of blood and saliva. The Cardsmen slides the tip of the dagger into the corner of the girl’s right eye, carving it out and flinging it to the ground before stepping on it. He loosens his grip slightly allowing her wrenching wails of suffering to escape her throat, red spurting from her now empty right eye socket.

"The girl we seek was on the train heading this way. Given her head start she undoubtedly beat us here so stop lying to me with that deceitful tongue of yours before I cut it from your mouth. TELL ME WHERE SHE IS." the girl in his hands breaks completely from the situation giving way to even more frantic nonsensical babbling and crying.

"Have it your way then." continues the Cardsmen, thrusting his dagger deep into the girl's ear wound piercing her skull sending great spasms through her body as she goes silent. The girl's body convulses as it dangles from his hand. He tosses her corps down hard to the ground next to her remaining friend. The remaining cat girl desperately tries to crawl away.

"One left I see. Well hopefully you will be more forthcoming with the answers I seek, right?" muses the Cardsmen chuckling to himself as he approaches the last girl as she continues to crawl away in shock. He stomps down hard on the tip of her tail, grinding it into the ground under his heel causing her to erupt with brutal howls of torment. The Cardsmen pulls her up off the ground roughly and holds her against him, ripping her blouse. Spotting the scene unfolding, three more of the Cardsmen approach. The approaching Cardsmen surround the girl in their comrade's arms, their gazes ablaze with their evil intent. 

"Now for the last time tell me where the girl, final chance." shouts the Cardsmen.

"We told you we don't know, we just don't know…. please don't… please we don't know… please." cries out the poor feline girl.

"What do you think boys?" shouts the Cardsmen to his friends.

"I think they really don't know." responds one of the new Cardsmen as his friends jeer at the girl sobbing before them.

"I think your right, oh well, such a pity. I guess there's just one thing left to do then." responds the first Cardsmen who without hesitation throws the whimpering helpless girl to the ground as he and his friends fall upon her.

Alice turns away. She hides her face in the crook of her elbow trying to drown out the girl's pleas for mercy... More soldiers on horseback pass by Alice's position on the other side of the porch. Their axes arc down cleaving into bone. Citizens fall in their wake. Alice scurries from under the deck after they pass around a mushroom-shaped house and out of sight. Alice makes it a bit further into the town unseen; leaping from shadow to shadow and then diving into a nearby muddy trench of one of the larger streams that run through the town. A group of soldiers push a human man and boy towards the upper-edge of the muddy stream trench about a dozen yards ahead of her current position.

"….SMALL GIRL, SHE'S WEARING A SKY BLUE DRESS." shouts one of the Cardsmen at them.  
The boy and the man shake their heads and shrug. Snakebite quick sword points rip through their hearts. After surgically accurate thrusts the soldiers kick their bodies into the soggy trench behind them. The bodies slide down the edge of the trench and sink half-obscured into the soft stream-side soil about twelve yards ahead of where Alice was crawling full-prone along the edge of the stream. She can see that the stream trench leads all the way to the other side of town towards the massive wall that looms in the distance just beyond the town's edge. 

From a nearby carpentry workshop comes a chorus of horrible screams as the whole thing erupts in a blazing conflagration of scorching heat and choking black smoke. Soldiers toss gentlemanly dressed raccoons, pleading weasels folk, and crying ferret children into the burning workshop, the smell of burning flesh fills the air.  
A woodsmanly boar bravely charges one of the Cardsmen with a pitchfork, piercing the playing card plate-mail of the Cardsmen. The Cardsmen cries out in pain as a dark ooze drips down the metallic scales of the soldier's armor from his weeping wound. Ethereal steam curls off the strange black sludge. The boar pushes the pitchfork in even harder driving the soldier to the ground savagely. Two Cardsmen approaching from behind launch a sneak attack on the boar cutting off his arms. The brave boar falls to the ground in a squealing bleeding mess as the Cardsmen crowd around mocking and laughing before proceeding to stomp the boar to death under their heels.  
Feeling the attention move away from her area Alice bolts further down the trench towards the edge of town and the wall not far beyond. She reaches the slain bodies of the man and the boy. The man lies face up and Alice notices the funniest thing. His mouth is stained with various colors of paint. Vermilion, cadmium red, Prussian blue. They both wear dark brown cloaks. Alice takes the boy's cloak and puts it on. She smears river mud onto her dress to cover up the bright color.  
She creeps along the river bed staying out of sight as best she can. She passes loading docks amassed with crates. Dinghies and small catamarans lean sadly into the muck, helplessly beached. Violence trails behind her as she moves ever onward to the edge of town. Card soldiers carve spades into the skin of a young buck-man. He screams he hasn't seen a small girl in a blue dress as the cardmen pile-down upon him sawing off his antlers which they then dangle in front of his eyes.  
"Next thing we take will be your feet, now where is the girl!" demands one of the Cardsmen.  
Guilt shreds Alice's heart and with the right eyes, one can see the trail it leaves behind her. Riverbank gives way to canal walls. She presses herself flat against the masonry and sprints between footbridges to keep from being seen. The ground is more solid but has large puddles throughout. Cardsmen firebomb a nearby building. She feels the heat through her mud-caked cloak. The long arm of an orangutan hangs into the canal. She steps over the body of a beautiful but disemboweled rabbit woman.  
Sunset pink tints the clouds overhead. A chill breeze swirls past. The grotesque orgy of violence consuming the town has not reached the wall when Alice, at last, reaches it. The canal goes up to the base and then splits and runs parallel to the wall in both directions. It doesn't go under the wall. At one end it empties into a large pond, the other direction angles away from the wall and heads back out of town to the east.  
As the light fades so do the signs of warfare. Hiding in a pile of broken clocks Alice watches an old man kindly help a badger into a building across the canal from where she is.  
The section of the wall next to her is made of large cut stones. The sheer overwhelming scale of the wall fills Alice's heart with dread and awe, its massive height piercing the clouds. She sits among scattered gears, and lifeless cuckoos covered in fishy-smelling mud with no idea how she will possibly get past such a high wall.  
I can't do this. I'm just a little girl. That's all I am. That's all I can be.  
"Did you know that humans are the only creatures to feel self-pity?" chimes a voice she has come to know all too well.  
The sly grin of the Cheshire Cat forms on the face of a nearby clock. Ears grow out of the top and whiskers sprout from the center. Alice lifts her head to find the source of the voice.  
"Oh, Mr. Cat…I'm far too tired to answer your questions" responds Alice whimpering.  
"Very well, I'll answer it myself. (Continuing in a mockingly high impersonation) No, I didn't know that. I don't know very much at all because I'm just a dumb girl who doesn't think too deeply lest it gives me early wrinkles."   
"You don't need to be nasty. I'm already having a terrible day. I have no hope of reaching the top of this wall."  
The sly smile melts from the clock and is joined by the spectral shape of the feline form, "If it's hope you are searching for you will have a much longer journey than I thought." continues the Cheshire Cat.  
Alice lets her head drop down again. Tears are lost in the folds of her filthy clothes. Alice sobs.  
"How disappointing! Do you act like this every time you see a wall? Don't you know the whole point of a wall is to find a way past it?"  
"I thought the point of a wall was to keep people from passing it."  
"Only the people who build walls believe that." counters the Cheshire Cat.  
"Is there not a tiny door I can go through, or a magic vine that can lift me to the top?" pleads Alice, desperate for an easier way through the hardship looming before her.  
"Up until now you have been in a part of Wonderland that has a different set of rules. You haven't had to work at all, you have just moved from adventure to adventure dealing only with some slight changes to your body."  
"Slight changes? I'd say they were more than slight." blurts Alice.  
"Yes, yes, you got bigger, then smaller, then bigger again. These changes are child's play. Soon you will be faced with a world far less whimsical than the one you've grown accustomed to." presses the cat his tone gathering a subtle taint of sinister menace.  
Alice sits up with a huff, "This was the plan all along wasn't it? To have me go through Wonderland learning nothing and then just kick me out into this other place that is totally different, being completely unprepared." rages Alice.  
"Plan? Hmm…plan. Does it have to be written down to be considered a plan?"  
"No. It's a plan if it's something that was decided beforehand." mutters the cat, answering his own question.  
"Home… Mother… Why? Why must getting home be so hard? Oh, how I miss my mother, her soothing songs before bed and her gentle cheek kisses." blathers Alice to herself between whimpers.  
The twisted grin of the cat folds in on itself as his feline visage fades into little more than dust. Then from a small hole in the dirt a Vole wearing a bonnet emerges. She hops onto a sardine box and then climbs steadily up miniature trellis adorning the side of a nearby clock. Her brown fur speckled with gray. Alice can clearly see the ridge of the little creature's spine. As the Vole reaches the clock's roof. Alice calls-out to her making her jump.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," says Alice in a tone as meek and kind as she can manage.   
"That's alright dear. What are you doing sitting there in the grime?" responds the Vole.  
"I need to get past this wall here, but I have no hope of climbing to the top of it. I don't know what else to do." presses Alice.  
"Do not hope," says the vole. "Hope doesn't do anything. Decide what would make you happy and work toward that." responds the Vole with a firm and confident nod.  
"How can I stay working if I have no hope of succeeding?" queries back Alice confused.  
"When I climb to the top of these clocks I'm not thinking about being at the top. I'm only thinking about the next step in front of me." answers the Vole gesturing to the path she was about to proceed upon. The Vole turns to look at Alice one last time smiling supportively before scurrying away.  
Alice stands. She doffs the dead boy's cloak and approaches the wall.  
"The only thing that will make me happy is leaving Wonderland and never coming back, I hate it here and I will not let myself die here." she declares to herself sternly.  
She begins feeling for even the slightest crevices between the stones. The ancient, weathered masonry allows plenty of handholds. With one last glance behind her, she starts to climb. Her shoes are scuffed. Her knuckles are skinned but she makes it up to a narrow lip where she can stand. The stonework is interwoven with mirrors the size of windows, cracked fine china, dingy silverware and old saw handles. As she continues the climb she sees her face reflected in one of the mirrors. Her face is covered in acne. Her brow has thickened into one solid uni-brow accentuated by the bones themselves as if she had a Neanderthal's bone structure.  
"Dear me! I'm hideous!" shrieks Alice in disgust.  
She scrambles further up so that she doesn't have to see what a troll she has become. Alice looks up watching only her handholds. Have my arms grown? Have I not regained my original size? Have I been here so long that I'm naturally taller? Questions continue to buzz in her mind as she watches herself climb as she takes a mental stock of herself after seeing her gorgonish reflection in the mirror.  
Passing another mirror she shuts her eyes until her face is passed however curiosity takes over causing her to look down and see the front of her dress swelled outward in a way it never had been. Afraid to let go or look down any further she climbs higher. She is surprised a few more meters up by a third mirror, showing her a different face, this version of her face was unblemished by acne just muck, dirty but beautiful. It seems older, not grown, but older than she remembers.  
How long have I been here? She asks herself. Strange, she no longer knows.  
The a few more meters up the wall there is a row of large-reflective crystalline masses that seem to jut-out from the masonry of the wall. This row of crystalline protrusions seems to stretch horizontally along the entire length of the wall from what she can tell. As Alice climbs up between two of these crystals while making her way up the wall she notices that one of its reflective sides provides her with a full-length image of her own reflection profiling her entire body. She is horrified at her own appearance even more than before. Her arms are fat. Loose skin bunches at her elbows filled with flab. Rolls of fat on her back and waist test the seams of her dress. Alice looks down at her actual body. It is her normal body, dirty and tired, but still the body she remembers coming in with. She looks back at the mirror. The fat arms, her back rolls quiver in the cold brisk air as she continues to climb higher.  
Is this how others see me? She ponders to herself.  
She decides to ignore all other mirrors. Staring up she sees wind chimes and a fishing pole with a basket tied to the line. They sway slightly in the breeze. The material make-up of the wall shifts abruptly from the weathered stone to mud with metal pipes inlaid like a bird's nest.  
Upward ever further the wall stretches out towards the heavens. Alice's arms shake with exertion. She sweats in a way she only had that one spring at her grandma's when she got pneumonia. Alice curls up to rest in a group of pipes projecting out in a medium basin-like shape. When the wet noodles protruding from her torso become arms once again she sets back out. Ten feet. Twenty feet. Fifty. She climbs onward. The wall is a world unto itself. She shimmies past terrariums. Ant farms pulsate with pixelated life. Birds swoop into mailboxes. The inhabitants form cliques in the patchwork habitat. Beetles with Beetles. Sky Monkeys with Sky Monkeys.  
There are signs along the climb. One reads: Congratulations Ravens! Mid-wall Champs three years running! Although it is work to move up the wall Alice grows accustomed to the grind. It becomes familiar quickly. She even makes a few friends every so often.  
Another sign reads: There is no "I" in team. She rolls her eyes. Some parts of the wall are lined with stacks of books. "A Separate Peace" by John Knowles. "Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger. "The Giver", Lois Lowry. A Shakespeare anthology. "Things Fall Apart" Chinua Achebe. The next section of the wall's masonry is littered with smashed and battered statues.  
Regal arms stretch out. Mustachioed faces stare out over the smoldering skyline of the city below. Here and there are swirling horse manes, flat plaques with chiseled dates. Alice reads them and promptly forgets them. Breathing deep, sitting in the stone legs of a nameless general's horse a butterfly alights a hoof.  
"Hey! What did you get for Christmas?" the butterfly asks.  
"Well, it's been a while but I remember my parents got me a new Sunday dress and a diary and as for Santa, he brought me a flute even though I asked him for a piano" responds Alice, her gaze suddenly drawn to the source of the tiny voice addressing her.  
"You do know there is no Santa?" counters the butterfly.   
"What do you mean?" replies Alice confused.  
"Santa is just something your parents make up. He's not real." The butterfly chuckles in a friendly manner. Something clicks in Alice's head. A truth switch triggers and she realizes rather abruptly that perhaps elders are not infallible. She wonders what else she has been told that is a lie. This ignites a small simmer inside her which she uses to push herself onward. The butterfly twips around her as she climbs.  
She reaches an intersection of two materials. One section is made of barbells and jump ropes. The other is made of yarn and cluttered with spring-form cake pans. She scoots onto the softer section.  
"You know, my sister is a wonderful gardener. She grows cucumbers, strawberries, and herbs. She lets me help sometimes." Alice digs her toe into the wall and pushes up as she talks. The butterfly, returning from an extended absence, sets down on the middle key of a trumpet.  
"I don't have a sister. Sometimes I wish I did." replies the butterfly.  
"Oh yes. Having a sister is wonderful." muses Alice, feeling a warm plush flush her cheeks.  
"Maybe we can be sisters!" retorts the butterfly.  
Alice giggles. (Having a butterfly for a sister. How absurd!) "But then again you're the best friend I've had here in Wonderland." Sister Butterfly helps Alice forget her burning muscles and the calluses forming on her palms. She stops counting the days, sleeping intermittently where sturdy protruding junk allows. As she nears the top the climb becomes harder, the wind more intense, and the air colder and thinner.

"Dear me Sister Butterfly, whoever built this wall seems to have just piled up a bunch of nonsense in my way." declares Alice struggling to breathe and unable to shield herself from the bitter chill of the air now enveloping her.

"They can make it better but the Red Queen refuses to give them proper funding" replies Sister Butterfly with a tone of civil dismay. Alice continues to climb until at last one day, gripping the strap of a purse she lifts her other hand and finds only air. She mounts the top of the wall victorious and exhausted. Looking out over the new land that now stretches out before her, she finds that the wall follows a mountain range, perfectly bisecting them at their peaks. The mountains are covered by evergreen forest to their belt-line. The trees thin out near the top being replaced with craggy boulders and patches of long grass poking out here and there like hairy moles. The forest continues as far as Alice can see. Mountains make the land ahead uneven, seeming like explosions of stone frozen in time.

"Wow, we got the whole wide world ahead of us now." Sister Butterfly says.

"Yes, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do next" responds Alice, her voice shaky with uncertainty. 

"Well, whatever happens, let's promise to be friends forever." presses Sister Butterfly.

"Deal." Alice curls up her pinky and Sister Butterfly lands on it. They climb together down the wall and begin walking towards the nearest mountain summit.


	8. The Kinder Beschützer Institute

**The Kinder Beschützer Institute** **:**

**( 1913 A.D., London, England )**

A particularly spirited pop comes from the fire as Mr. Darling pokes at it gently. The last large chunk of wood splits, collapsing into a shapeless mound. Mr. Darling kneels to add another log to fire only to be greeted by a much more powerful crackling pop showering his pants with sparks. The harmless but startling event causes him to jump back, dropping the wood. He slaps at the front of his pants which had become heated significantly by the sparks. The wood lands hard on his foot making him pick his feet up as he cries out. Mrs. Darling rushes into the room to see what is happening only to be greeted by the sight of her husband dancing high-kneed smacking his trousers. She giggles at the sight of it all still touching the edges of her hair checking for errant strands. Mr. Darling, so accustomed to the stress of the past weeks, surprises himself as he joins in the laughter. He retrieves the log and places it on the coals.

“Don’t be nervous dear.” Mrs. Darling says. 

“I’m not nervous, it’s just…”

A knock on the door interrupts his reply. Mr. Darling answers it eagerly. In front of him stands a gleeful Vincent Frost flanked by two other fine-looking gentlemen. One is a well-built man of average height with a full beard wearing a tweed overcoat and a bowler hat. The other stands a couple of paces back. A bean pole of a man who looms rigidly straight as his head continuously swivels in methodical arcs. He wears an unbuttoned black wool jacket with a green waistcoat, however, his shirt hangs messily over his trousers. Mr. Darling wonders if the man was deficient.

Vincent steps forward sapping the remaining heat from Mr. Darling’s clothes. 

“Good Evening Mr. Darling it is wonderful to see you again.” Mr. Darling’s eyes go wide as Vincent pulls him into a brief but friendly hug. He looks back at Mrs. Darling during the embrace, causing her to shrug with an almost amused smile.

“These are my associates; Mr. Holmes...” continues Vincent gesturing back to the ill-kempt man. Mr. Darling reaches out his hand. Holmes, still not looking in his direction asks, “Which window goes into the nursery?”

“Umm, well it is the far window on that side of the house.”

Holmes abruptly ditches the conversation and strides around the corner of the house, pulling something from the pocket of his coat. 

“And this is Dr. Watson.” continues Vincent gesturing to the well-built man beside him. Watson grabs the hand still extended for Holmes and gives it a sturdy spirited handshake. The minor slight Mr. Darling feels from Holmes is erased by the genuine warmth of Dr. Watson.

“Delighted to meet you. Welcome to our home,” replies Mr. Darling. Vincent and Watson step inside as Mr. Darling peeks toward the edge of the house beyond which Holmes has disappeared before deciding to close the door. 

“This is my beautiful wife Mary.” declares Mr. Darling signaling to the beautiful woman beside him.

“Charmed,” replies Watson, placing a gentlemanly peck on her hand. 

Vincent shakes her other hand quickly and moves away from the crackling fire. 

“So how does this work? My husband told me of this meeting but not what it would entail,” asks Mary, her tone polite but serious.

“Well first…”

Holmes enters the room where the others are gathered from the kitchen still stowing his lock-picks within their case. 

“There was obviously no forced entry from the exterior of the house, not even a ladder scuff on the window sill so the abduction story is entirely fabricated. Initial readings show low levels of chronozites which would explain Mr. Darling’s description of the returned children,” he constantly scans the room while speaking. 

“I have some theories of course but let’s speak to the girl.” continues Holmes as he walks toward Mr. Darling, not looking at him until the two are uncomfortably close to each other. Holmes’s and Mr. Darling’s eyes finally meet. Holmes’s eyes seem almost vacant. 

“You did not burn yourself I hope.”

“No, I...wait how did you…”

Without waiting for the answer he turns to Mrs. Darling, “And if you use vinegar on the windows it will help with the streaks. Shall we continue in the dining room?” Holmes turns on his heels and takes a seat in the other room. 

“Mr. Holmes can come off as rather abrupt, my apologies. Next, we will need to speak with the children and take a blood sample from one of them. Will the dining room be suitable?” Vincent asks.

“Yes, that will be fine. Please just proceed with what you need to do. We just want to get past this as soon as possible [Vincent nods understandingly]. Mary will you please show our guests to the dining room while I retrieve Wendy?” replies Mr. Darling.

“Of course,” responds Mrs. Darling. “Can I offer anyone some tea?” 

“Oh no thank you,” replies Vincent.

“I would love a cup, thank you” responds Watson with another chipper grin.

“Perhaps later for me” replies Holmes adjusting the antenna on a small strange-looking device in his hand. 

Mrs. Darling leaves to fetch the tea. A few moments later Mr. Darling returns with Wendy. Seeing the strange men seated before her at the table she pulls her hand out of his and crosses her arms with a huff as her hair falls half tangled onto her shoulders. Her father gestures for her to sit down in a nearby empty chair at the table next to Holmes. She sits down and glances around at the mysterious strangers sitting at the table with her. Mrs. Darling returns and places a cup of tea and a dish of sugar cubes in front of Watson who mouths a grateful thank you. Vincent, smiling as always, stares transfixed at Wendy. He taps Watson on the shoulder. Watson mid-sip of tea looks over with his eyes and understanding sets the cup back down. Watson reaches into his bag and pulls out an audio recorder and a leather case. 

“Hello Wendy, my name is Vincent Frost and this is my associate Dr. Watson. We understand you must be very tired of all the questioning you've been receiving lately but can you please bear with us and go through your story just one more time?”

“Sure, why not?” replies Wendy with a tone of barely suppressed annoyance. 

Mr. and Mrs. Darling shift uncomfortably at their daughter’s rudeness. Holmes stands back up out of his chair pointing his device around the room. His eyebrows jump and he scoots around Wendy heading towards the stairs. 

“Now while I ask these questions Watson is going to draw some blood. It won’t hurt and it won’t take very long so just focus on me, okay?” says Vincent. 

Wendy nods as Watson slides his chair closer to Wendy pulling a small hypodermic needle and a glass vial from his leather case. Wendy stares at Watson curiously for a moment before turning her gaze to Vincent.

“Okay Wendy first let me clear so there is no confusion, this is not an interrogation. We are not the police. All we want is for you to tell us your version of the events surrounding the disappearance of you and your brothers.” Wendy offers a subtle nod.

Wendy studies Vincent becoming more and more curious. She feels a chill breeze come off of him and she imagines his eyes as two chunks of arctic glacier, his heart a ball of ice to match his snow-pale skin. She finds that the more she looks upon him the more drawn in she feels. His smile changes, quirking down slightly on one side so imperceptibly that she is sure no one else noticed, but she did. Watson gently rolls up Wendy’s sleeve. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? That night your parents were attending a social event leaving Liza to watch over you. Is this correct?” 

“Yes” answers Wendy nodding. Watson inserts the needle. Her arm tenses for a moment but she doesn’t look away from Vincent. 

“Great. So now could you please tell us your account of what happened from that point,” Vincent presses record on his device. 

“Well, we were all tucked into bed in the nursery. Nana was outside barking incessantly, probably at the neighbor's cat Anastasia. It is a Russian Blue you see so they gave her a Russian name. I believe Liza was downstairs putting away the books onto Father’s bookshelf. The boys had stacked them up to make a fort earlier and hadn’t put them away. Fighting with father made me so anxious I was finding it very difficult to fall asleep but eventually, I must have managed it.” 

Watson finishes taking the sample. Wendy reflexively turns her head to see the needle but to her surprise, she finds her gaze inexorably locked with Vincent’s. No matter how she tries or turns her head she cannot look away from her interviewer. She tries to turn her head further but can’t. Watson squirts a portion of the blood into the vial containing an ounce of clear liquid. He brings the vial close to his face and swirls the liquids together.

“You are doing great Wendy then what happened?” responds Vincent leaning back and placing his hands in his lap. 

Now it is not only a physical cold she feels coming from Vincent. There is numbness in her mind as well, she can’t think. It reminds her of the time she snuck an extra two spoons of cough syrup when she had a cold last year. She gives up trying to avert her eyes from him. Confused and unsure of what to do, she continues her cover story.

“I was awoken by the sound of heavy footsteps in the room, everything was so fast I could not see the attackers. They blindfolded us, oh and they also gagged us so we could not scream,” Vincent nods never averting his eyes from hers.

She tries to resist but she can’t, she feels herself begin to fall. Her mind slips back to the moment in the window of the nursery, back to Peter. She can see him leaning half-out of the open window extending his hand to her, beckoning her to fly away with him. She grasps it. She remembers it all so clearly, the softness of his skin combined with the fearsome strength of his grip. The moment cracks and shatters. She is back in the room in front of Vincent, her mind cold and dulled.

“They gagged and blindfolded you and your brothers?” asks Vincent, his tone still warm as ever. 

“Yes,” answers Wendy, fidgeting with unease.

“Okay, then what? How did they get you out of the house?”

The moment bleeds back to her mind’s eye. Wendy follows Peter out the window, the cold London night nipping at her skin. Her mind is back in that moment, she finds herself looking down at the roofs of London as she and her brothers are lead zooming towards the second star to the right. She remembers the excitement, the complete vulnerability, the fear and liberation. Pulled back to the present she finds Vincent sitting across from her once again. The excitement of the memory drains away but the fear remains. 

“I-I-I...don’t know exactly. As I said...we were uh, blindfolded. All I know is that they were carrying us for a very long time,” answers Wendy trying to shake the ever-growing fog from her head to no avail. 

“Can you tell me anything about where they took you and your brothers?” 

In truth, her eyes had been covered when first she was brought to the Tree-house. After all, it was an unveiling. She can still feel the wet leaves covering the ground beneath her. Peter steps in front of her and spreads his arms proclaiming, ‘Behold my kingdom’. Wendy giggles with a savage blush. Although it was a large structure made of numerous sprawling bungalows it did look childish to her at first. Irregular walls made from driftwood, or hanging vines braided to seem more solid. It didn’t look like any kind of proper house to her. 

“No they never removed the blindfold” replies Wendy the back of her mind still mentally trapped inside the memory. She looks askance to tell John how she will probably have a lot of cleaning to do, only somethings wrong. Where once stood John in that moment now stood Vincent. No, none of this is right. Vincent was not there, it was John. The fear grows stronger within her as the image of Vincent where John had stood refuses to fade from her memory. The Vincent of her mind moves toward her, smiling at her. 

“Okay, so no visual details but can you hear anything? Were you still in London? How cold was the room they kept you in?” the words seemingly no longer coming from the Vincent sitting across from her but rather spoken by the Vincent in her mind. She backs away from him until she is pressing herself against the back wall of the Tree-house. He closes in on her until they are inches apart. He reaches out for her touching her cheek sending daggers of cold shooting through her at his touch. She blinks and suddenly there is Peter showing her a new addition to the Tree-house. He tells her the Lost Boys had built it to honor their new mother. She can hear the far-off cry of macaws and the heavy buzzing of cicadas. She remembers going to a hammock strung across the back of the room, touching the coarse patchwork of canvas and linen. She turns to face Peter and the Lost Boys only to be met once again by Vincent standing before her placing his hands on her shoulders. 

“I am sorry I cannot recall, um it was cold.” Cold like you she thinks. Indignation flares inside her somewhere deep, somewhere inherited. A piece of her father, a pride that he continually swallows at the behest of middle-class society.

“That’s fine, you are doing great,” says Vincent supportively. 

“From that point on it’s all just footsteps and some muffled voices. I’m sorry,” replies Wendy. She drops each sentence like a heavy stone. Her inner-anger swelling until there is nothing in her mind but red heat. She takes the fog and confusion and burns it away until her mind is a smoking furnace. Vincent breaks away, his smile growing larger. He is impressed. 

“Thank you, Wendy, that should be sufficient.”

“Can I be excused now?” asks Wendy with forced politeness getting up from her chair and turning to her mother. Her mother nods and Wendy breathes a deep sigh of relief.

“Actually Wendy, I am sorry but I do have just one more small question for you.” There is an edge in Vincent’s voice, a desperate excitement. The answer to the mystery that has tortured him for decades is right there, in the mind of this small girl. 

“Tell me Wendy. Who is Peter?”

She thought she had defeated him, burned him out with her indignation. Her brain stops unable to process anything further. It takes several moments before she realizes she is still in the dining room and they are waiting for her to answer. 

“I’m so… sorry I do not know who you are talking about.”

Vincent opens his mouth to continue speaking when Sherlock rushes in. 

“The chronozite levels... th... they…” stammers Sherlock. His sentence, much like his body, stumbles into the room. “The children... all around them... it’s…”

“Off the charts?” finishes Watson. Watson lifts the vial of Wendy’s blood up and Sherlock peers at it intently. The blood had ten or so white flecks suspended in it. 

“I.B.V. is as expected. I would hazard to guess a sample from one of the lost boys would yield a higher concentration but…” continues Watson as Sherlock quickly catches his breath.

“LISTEN FOR CHRISTS SAKE.” shouts Sherlock. 

“I know these readings are the highest we’ve ever seen but this location is not the only spike in the readings; something is coming this way and fast.” he continues aggressively.

Tootles appears in the doorway rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. His freshly washed clothes make him look like a child dressed up for a play. He leans on the door frame putting his head against his forearm.

“Is Mother Wendy coming back to bed? I can’t sleep.” 

Michael and the Twins peek down the staircase, their hair sticking out at odd angles as though recently tousled by troubled sleep.

“No one is going back to bed,” Interrupts Vincent as he confirms Sherlock’s scan results. The Chronozyte Scanner buries its needle every time Vincent points it towards the door. 

“The other reading; it’s here. We all have to get out of here now” announces Vincent firmly as he pulls a slender silver device out of his pocket, flipping the device open. 

“Agent Vincent to Security Detail Alpha One we have a potential emergency. Requesting an immediate Level Three Escort Detail to escort V.I.P.s to London Rendezvous Point two.”

The device chimes back, “Confirmed.” 

“How long until we can expect the escort team?” asks Sherlock, stowing the Chronozyte Scanner back in his pocket.

“Two Minutes,” replies Vincent. He snaps his device shut and begins ushering everyone toward the back door.

“Would someone please tell us what’s going on?” asks Mr. Darling, sounding both panicked and indignant simultaneously. 

“No time to explain. Gather the children and meet us at the back...” order’s Vincent. Then comes the boom like a thunder crack. The front door erupts inward. 

Vincent reaches out his left hand. A convex wall of ice forms in front of the Darling family deflecting broken shards of the door frame. Watson leaps to the side barely avoiding the flying shrapnel. 

A cloud of mist surges through the doorway. It fills half the living room bringing with it the bitter bite of the London winter. The mist streaks toward Vincent condensing into a large, bearded man clothed in furs. One leg already chambered and ready; he unloads a fearsome front kick into Vincent’s chest. The kick launches Vincent backward off his feet smashing him hard into the kitchen counter with a bone-shattering crunch. Vincent readies himself again, blood dripping from his mouth. Sherlock and Watson draw pistols from inside their coats. Watson unloads first.

The rugged-looking man becomes mist once again, rapidly closing the distance between him and Watson. Before Watson can react the man materializes with a punch already in motion, striking up into Watson’s liver. The blow reverberates through his body knocking the air from his lungs and causing him to re-swallow the eggs and toast he had that morning. Watson crumples.

Sherlock tracks the mist towards Watson. He flicks a switch that would normally disengage the safety, but his gun doesn’t have a safety. Internal circuits engage and the barrel hums with pent-up potential energy. His finger waits patiently for the perfect moment. The man appears and before Watson has had time to fall from the body-shot Sherlock fires. 

The pistol goes off in a three-shot burst. Shimmering bullets whiz forward leaving blue-white tracer trails as they strike their target. Thack-thack-thack! They hit the man putting scorched holes through the wolf pelts on his back, burning deep into his flesh. He screams and turns toward Sherlock. Sherlock is already moving. He compares the exits, dining room blocked by ice, kitchen leads to the enemy but also towards the rendezvous. Only two viable alternatives: the front door and front window, on one hand, the front door is closer to the enemy with chairs and coffee table obstructing and on the other hand the front window requires a suitable object to go through first to minimize personal lacerations. Oh! Sherlock spots a chunk of oak near the fireplace option two it is. Mid stride Sherlock hefts the chunk of oak and heaves it through the front window following just after it. Sherlock somersaults through the window rolling back onto his feet in the front yard. The mist pours back outside through the decimated door frame towards him. 

Vincent, seeing an opportunity, attempts to gather the nearby Darling Family members together. Wendy, Tootles, and the parents stare unmoving at the wall of ice Vincent had created to shield them. For a moment he is afraid he had been too zealous and had caught them up in the spell but when he calls-out to them they all jump, spinning around and granting Vincent their full attention. Vincent rushes them outside through the back kitchen door. Once outside he has them toss sticks at the nursery window. John opens the window.

“You must jump!” shouts Vincent as the others around him nod in agreement. 

Curly leans out the window, “But we don’t have any fairy dust! We’ll fall.”

“I’ll catch you,” Vincent answers. “Trust me, come now!” 

Curly shrugs and with the manner of a boy who is constantly told to do wild things and having those wild things succeed he crawls up between John’s legs and onto the window frame. This causes John to lift one leg and scold him. Then, the young boy leaps. The Twins push Nana out who yelps and squirms when Vincent catches her. The other Lost Boys follow quickly with Michael on their coattails. John is the only one who hesitates. He bends his legs over and over telling himself to just jump. He has already flown. He just watched all the other boys land semi-comfortably in this strange man’s arms, and yet there is some fear. Then from their living room, something crashes through the front window and he jumps without thinking. 

Vincent’s group rounds the corner from the backyard to the front of the house as two Allday and Onions Sedans careen to a stop in the middle of the street. A young-looking Chinese Woman stands up from the driver’s seat of the first car wielding a glistening metallic crossbow.

“Darling Family with me! Lost Boys vehicle two!” she shouts, flicking a switch on a large battery pack. 

Across the front yard, Sherlock prepares another shot but the mist advances on him and re-condenses into the form of the rugged man who swats the pistol out of his hand followed by a firm right-hook. Sherlock dips under the punch. Tucking and sliding Sherlock disengages and scrambles away towards the cars. Bone amulets tinkle together as the man reaches into his furs and pulls out a sawn-off shotgun. The Darlings waste no time jumping into the first car. 

Mr. Darling pushes Wendy and Mary down trying to shield them. The Lost Boys, accustomed to danger but never having seen a car, run half hardheartedly held by sudden curiosity. The rugged man fires. The shotgun blast connects with flesh in a bloody red spray causing Tootles to fall face-down on the sidewalk, writhing and screaming. The Darling Children scream and try to climb over the back of the car to get to Tootles but Vincent and their parents stop them. A mysterious blond woman quickly scoops up Tootles and loads him into the second vehicle before placing a device over his wound and injecting him with something. The Chinese Woman lets loose a tethered-bolt from her crossbow. She hits the man in the chest. As the tethered-bolt buries itself deep inside his torso she presses a button on her crossbow. Voltage courses down the wire humming like a bee swarm. The man jerks and spasms chaotically before collapsing onto the lawn. 

“He will be fine, Joan has him,” declares Vincent in stern assurance to the Darling Children. Watson sprints out of the house and latches onto the back of car one. The Chinese Woman climbs back into the front passenger seat of car one as she detaches the bolt-teether from her crossbow. The Chinese Woman, seeing that all those intended for car one have climbed in gestures for the driver to put the pedal to the metal. Car one takes off at high-speed and within seconds they have already taken the first turn and have lost sight of the house, car two and their hunter. 

“Joan to the Gunner-Seat, Driver, Get us out of here!” demands Sherlock to the front passenger and the driver in car two as he climbs in accompanied by the remaining Lost Boys. They all scrunch in as best they can, some hanging from the sides of the car as it speeds off. The fair-haired front passenger of car two climbs into the back of the car stepping over the passengers gracefully until she reaches the back of the car and readies the stationary gun mounted on the vehicle’s back. 

“Thank goodness. We are safe” says Mrs. Darling as she shivers realizing they all ran out without their jackets or scarves. 

“I’m afraid not,” Watson retorts. “The Woodsman always gets his quarry.” 

He points back down the boulevard at a patch of mist that flows around a street lamp on the corner behind them before streaking towards them. 

“Mulan! We have to lose him before we reach the warp point,” orders Vincent. Mulan nods then proceeds to hook one of her feet around the back-base of the driver’s seat. She reloads her crossbow. Watson drops his half-empty magazine and fumbles in a fresh one as the car jostles on the cobblestone roads. The mist closes in as Mulan leans over the edge of the vehicle using her hook-and-locked foot to steady herself. Angling and waiting for the perfect moment she narrows her sights. 

The mist moves in close following along the right side of the vehicle before solidifying once again into the form of the Woodsman mounted upon a dark ephemeral horse giving them chase. He lifts a woodcutter’s ax and swings at the passengers in the car. His ax slashes Watson’s right arm, absorbing a strike meant for Mr. Darling’s head, causing Watson to drop his weapon onto the floor of the car. Watson, desperate to get the Woodsman away from the Darling Family, launches himself towards the Woodsman striking him in the face with a solid right-hook. The Woodsman evaporates again. Watson drops through the mist with a yelp and tumbles down to the pavement. The Woodsman swirls to the other side of the vehicle slicing half-formed at the Darling Children as he moves. Abandoning her shot Mulan dives on top of the Darling Children shielding them from the strike at the cost of a bloody grievous slash to her back. 

The Woodsman now on the other side of the vehicle hooks his ax into the weapon of the recovering Mulan and yanks her crossbow from her hands. Mulan quickly draws her sword and readies herself.

The Driver turns hard down a two-lane avenue. The melee is interrupted mid clash. Rounding the corner Vincent sees Joan at the next intersection gripping the handles of a mounted minigun. _Hmm...that’s new_. He gestures for the driver to head straight at Joan’s vehicle. The Woodsman, distracted by the fierce sword to ax battle he found himself currently locked-in with Mulan, fails to notice Joan’s approaching vehicle before it is too late. 

“Now!” Shouts Vincent signaling for the driver to turn hard out of the way giving Joan a clear shot at the Woodsman.

As the car jerks to the left, the Woodsman comes face to face with six already spinning barrels. The minigun sings. In one second fifty-eight bullets tear into the Woodsman. His corporeal form shreds. In its wake, a blood mist settles on the pavement sinking between the dirty rivets of the stone street. 

The two cars reconvene at the southern edge of Kensington Gardens. The car rockets north before veering left to stay on the west side of the Serpentine. They skirt the waters heading for the Italian Gardens. 

“Prepare yourselves. Close your eyes and hold on.”

“Prepare for wh-” Mrs. Darling starts. The world stops. 

An intense feeling of falling through warm water washes over the travelers. The Darlings and the Lost Boys shrivel into themselves overcome by an alien sensation. Nana barks over and over with no sound finding anyone. Then a rush of power erupts all around them as the world bursts back into motion with a brilliant flash of light. 

They open their eyes into a panoramic vision of the river Thames. Gawking around from inside the car it seemed like they were floating in mid-air. The Lost Boys peek past the wheels and see a floor of polished hardwood. The Darlings share their amazement as they see the gothic-abutments of the Palace of Westminster extending out from below them half-hidden by a plane of semi-opaque wood. Beside them sandwiched in the middle of the Clock Tower is a large square office. It is furnished with a large magnificent wooden desk covered in bizarre equipment, elegant bookshelves stand behind it winged by two locked armories on each side, and an impossible to explain fireplace adorns the Space opposite the desk where the opposing wall should be in a normal room. 

Vincent steps out of the car, “We made it.”


	9. Into the Vast Unknown

**Into the Vast Unknown** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., The Forbidden Waters, South-Western Province, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

The Stille Jäger sails free and clear through the following day. On the morning of the second day, the crew is greeted by a port-side horizon that fills their hearts with dread for off in the distance looms the towering skeletal remains of a monstrous titan. The creature’s spine juts forth out of the water like a mountain range stretching the distance of the horizon. Hook’s men look upon it with a frightful grimace, their minds filling with unsettling questions.

“Whadda yu reckon it was Cap'n? It’s massive” asks Mr. Mason, his voice trembling. 

“I guess now we know what killed the dragon of Dragon Spine Island." chuckles Hook to himself before continuing. "What do you make of it Mr. Smee?” 

“I don’t know sir but whatever it was, let's hope it was the last of its kind in these waters” replies Smee bewildered. 

“Right you are Mr. Smee. I couldn't agree more.” continues Hook smacking Smee playfully on the shoulder.

"Alright stop your gawking you mangy gits… we’ve no time for senseless gawking. It’s time to push onward." demands Hook firmly.

They sail four days without a blip of land to be found. On the fifth day, Hook calls Smee into his cabin. Smee strides in and scoots a chair to the corner of Hook’s desk. He crosses a leg and leans casually on an elbow. Hook chooses two cigars from a humidor and glances over his shoulder with a smirk. Smee nods. The Captain slices the ends with his hook and lights them both from a hanging oil lamp, he hands one to his first-mate before moving back around to his proper captain’s side of the desk. 

Hook casts a playful smirk at Smee kicking back in his captain’s chair with his feet up on the desk. For a while the moments fade as both allow the smoke-filled silence to wash over them. Silent Smoking gives away to guffawing and hard-drinking before at-last the night fades into slumber as they drift off in each other’s arms.

With the morning comes the sun, its gleaming light radiating against the dark polished wood of the ship, sea-birds diving for the morning meals just beyond the treading path of the ship’s wake. 

The noon rays of the sun spectrum through the stained-glass window of Hook’s cabin bathing Hook and his first mate in a purplish-blue aura. Their bodies intertwined resting in the soft comfort of each other's embrace. Hook strokes Smee’s hair as he begins to speak softly to him.

“Smee, I’ve been rattling this old coconut of mine these past days of smooth sailing.”

“About what Captain?” replies Smee ghosting his hand over Hook’s chest.

“Well, As you know, I have been able to claim sovereignty of Neverland's waters for quite a while now. Although I’m constantly foiled by Pan during excursions into the island itself. He would never dare challenge me out of view of his precious playground after-all.”

“No one can argue that.” chimes back Smee.

“Why is it that an arrogant, foppish boy who looks at the people around him as playthings gets so connected with a place that its very weather will change with his moods?”

Smee furrows his brow pensively, “The spirit of Neverland is the idea of never growing up. Pan has given himself completely over to that ideal at the expense of any mature humanity.” Hook jostles Smee tenderly, a reward for his wisdom. 

“Good form, another fine answer as always Mr. Smee but then tell me this. How can I, Captain James Hook, ever hope to take from him a land that is anchored to him so intimately?” Smee raises his head off Hook’s chest to lock gazes with him.

“Your pardon’s Captain but isn’t the answer to that question the very thing that we are sailing out here to find?”

“Ahh Smee, you see there’s where we find the difference between myself and the Pan.” 

“And what is that sir?”

“Pan has never known any meaningful sacrifice for his power, it just comes to him naturally however I know that to gain true power one must sacrifice. And I’m afraid of what I will have to sacrifice to gain such power. The Pan has no such fear...”

Smee feels a sudden vulnerability as if a warm blade stretched out towards his chest. For Smee, the surprise is a perfect pearl. Unable to speak, he draws forth from a bedside table a glass pipe of Neverlandian Moon-Leaf. Lighting it up and taking a drag he sighs deeply. His eyes gleam through the smoke with caged energy. Smee hands the smoke off to Hook as he climbs from the bed and proceeds to get ready to face the day. Hook takes a long thoughtful drag on the Moon-Leaf before getting up and doing the same.

Hook and Smee begin to make their way out of Hook’s cabin when suddenly Blickstein walks in, followed by Cecco. 

“Captain! You’re gonna want to see this.”

The men rush to the deck. Spyglass in hand Hook scans all the way left, then right. 

“Blast! Another day another obstacle it seems Mr. Smee.” 

Jagged spikes and sharp bumps of coral protrude from the water stretching out before the ship. The jutting spikes pierce the surface of the ocean extending the length of the horizon in both directions with no break large enough to fit a ship such as theirs.

“Lower the sails and drop anchor! Be ready for my command in two hours! barks Hook sending his men into a scurry of activity.

Without waiting for the waylays Hook storms back into his cabin. He slams his hook down hard into the desk cleaving a three-inch hunk from the edge. In front of him is the book holding down the bag of fairy dust. He decides in an instant. Snatching up the bag he flings open the doors of his cabin, emerging back onto the deck. The crew had one sail half down, fumbling with unfamiliar rigging.

“Hoist it back up! Full speed Smee!” 

“But Captain…” utters back Smee confused.

“Do it!” the Captain rushes to the bow. He pricks the bag of dust with his hook and leaks a trail of it down the length of the ship until he reaches the helm. 

Captain Hook does something he can't remember having done in a very, very long time… He pushes himself to think happy thoughts. He thinks about his childhood, The loving eyes of his mother, the soothing protective warmth of her hand, her soothing songs before sleep. The bow rises on a wave and continues to rise after it. The crew sucks in their breath. They clamp to ropes and railings. The ship slams down. Hook grits his teeth and reaches inside again. He recalls the first trip he took to sea by himself; thirteen years old, in a twenty-foot longboat with a single sail. The refreshing sensation of freedom comes rushing back to him. The type of freedom that only comes from gazing out across a vast glistening surface of water stretching out ahead of you as far as the eye can see; the world and your troubles sinking beneath the waves. He feels once again that great power of surrender and equal fear of the unknown that such complete freedom brings. 

The ship crests another large wave and continues up. As the last contact with water is left behind the great ship wavers. Hooks growls.

“Alright, you dirty bilge rats! Think happy thoughts or this ship won’t be the only thing broken on the reef!”

“Enemies’ blood on your blade!” yells Smee.

“A full bottle of rum!” cries Mr. Mason.

“A pretty girl in your bed!” shouts Noodler

“Hell two pretty girls in your bed and a Mince pie for dessert!” bellows Black Murphy casting an amused “try harder” look at Noodler. Noodler grunts back with a raunchy grin.

“Dry socks and Moist Steak!” cheers Cecco.

“A dead ex-wife!” declares Blickstein.

The ship climbs into the air. Each member of the crew puts their happiness in a choke-hold. It tethers them to a warm, floating sensation that permeates their damp bodies, their wicked comradery and twisted joy fusing into the wood of the ship connecting them to each other more than ever.

The keel and rudder scrape against protruding coral. Hook in desperation adds one more memory, one he had not dared remember for quite some time. It was a memory he thought beyond his courage to face; his first kiss. For one brief moment, he allows the memory to envelop him. The ship lurches clear of the reef. Streams of water flow from exposed barnacles. Every throat bellows with triumph. They look over the side. Threatening fingers of sharp coral reach toward them in futility. They gawk and point. Mr. Mason giggles, slapping Cecco on the back. Childlike exuberance sweeps through them and into the ship bringing it ever higher. Black Murphy puts a huge arm over Noodler’s shoulders. Hook abandons the memory once more, daring not to face it any longer.

When they clear the last spike of coral their minds gradually return to average thoughts. Many of them are so unaccustomed to such happiness that they sigh with relief when the ship descends. They realize the flight is over and the ship plops down into the sea once again. 

Hook looks down at the shiny, black carapace that covers the lower half of his forearm and wonders if the stuff is changing more than just his skin. The rest of the day is smooth sailing. 

The next day, a squall ambushes them. It isn’t strong but it lasts most of the day, forcing them Eastward. When it abates the setting sun outlines a distant archipelago. Hook consults the clam and finds it will take them half a day out of their way.

“How do our provisions look Mr. Smee?” inquires Hook.

“Rather low Captain. I expect the last crew had planned to restock at port before our bit of dampering” replies Smee. 

“Very well, head for that archipelago.” 

As they near the archipelago wisps of fog dance through the rigging as the sun sets. The moon beams down its silver consolation prize. Rather than reduce visibility the fog seems to catch the light and fling it in all directions as if composed of countless minuscule diamonds cut out of the stars, permeating the night air. 

Hook steers his vessel into a small bay where they anchor for the night. Hook awakens before sunrise. His mind; foggy and his body; sore. The arm with the chitin feels wonderful, as does the leg on that side. Upon inspection he finds several thin veins of black unknown matter growing out through his skin extending down that leg. He dresses and shaves. Then he tells Black Murphy, who had taken the last bow watch, to rouse the rest of the crew. By first light among tired grumblings, the longboat is lowered for a shore expedition. 

“This mist floats about here mighty peculiar Cap’n.” Cecco swats at a wisp of it and instead of dissipating it bounces off his palm as though the fog was composed of weightless minuscule pebbles. As they come ashore a rabbit scurries from the edge of the treeline into some nearby underbrush. A large bird flaps into the sky and glides away from them. 

“Plenty of game to be had men. We certainly won’t be starving it seems.” declares Hook as Smee hands out three rifles which they found on the ship. Noodler reaches out for one of the guns and Smee waves him away. 

“Perhaps you should fish, or gather mushrooms.”

Noodler clenches a backward fist and strides off muttering. The men fan out on their individual missions. Hook picks at the dark carapace of his arm. Being back on a beach makes it itch. With no real purpose except curiosity Hook ventures into the forest. As he pushes down a mass of wide leaves, steps over ferns as funny puffs of vapor rise up from beneath his feet, filling his lungs. It smells like the chemicals the crazy doctors smeared on his wounds, back when he allowed that. Determined and still filled with curiosity Hook pushes onward through the trees. 

The forest teems with prey animals. Small, fat birds with a quail’s nose feather and a peacock’s plumage bob quickly in his path. Keejos burst from small puddles. Brown-shelled pigs trample down a hill to his right. 

He tests his new good hand on different materials. He finds it cuts precise edges into supple leaves. It also cleaves deep ruts into tree trunks. What amazes him most is just how much he can feel it. The dark, jagged hook gives him the same sensation as its flesh counterpart. He lets a Trill beetle scuttle up and down it marveling at the scratchy pull of its tiny legs. 

A sudden sound of a nearby giggle makes him fling the beetle. His sword shrieks free as he spots a small hand disappearing through the underbrush. Bushes shake as the sound of soft playful humming echoes all around. Hook shoves through the giant ferns in pursuit. Fog splashes against his chest and face. The smell makes him cough. More gleeful giggles assault his senses from somewhere nearby, he turns and slashes in the direction of the offending sounds cutting and dicing at the foliage. A sapling topples. 

“Wassu matter you old codfish? You can’t play a simple game?” 

“Pan?” No, it can’t be, thinks Hook. He wouldn’t stray this far from Neverland. Hook creeps forward peering into shady nooks and darkened crannies. He tries to distinguish between the pale cream of tree trunks and possible sections of Pan’s supple flesh. 

“This wouldn’t be one of my men thinking he can survive a prank on his captain, would it?” chides Hook.

A silence follows that pulls his nerves taut. He scrutinizes every bush as they seem to move in slow undulation. For a moment the world is liquid and his stomach heaves like his first case of seasickness. He puts his good hand to his mouth. 

“You think one of your men can be this handsome?” Pan’s face rushes down from the canopy. There’s a flash of his short blade. Hook parries awkwardly; stumbling back and falling into some ferns. 

“Hee hee hee ha ha! The same old, clumsy idiot! You were better off in the croc’s belly!” jeers the mocking voice.

Hook growls and regains his feet. As he stomps forward preparing to cut the whole forest down to find the little pixie-boy but then like lightning from the ether it dawns on him… realization. Everything becomes suddenly so clear. 

I need to remember how to play games. Pan is a child who makes decisions based on his own pleasure. I must exploit it. Think like Pan…think like Pan…He’ll torment me. Make me angry. Half his fun is seeing me frazzled. Not this time. I have to find a place where he can’t fly all around me. I think it’s time I had a little fun too.

Hook leaps into the dark dense canopy of the trees. He moves from branch to branch getting progressively more daring with his swinging and lunging. Soon, Captain Hook is rocketing through the forest canopy disturbing families of monkeys and forcing countless birds into flight. The voice of Pan gets farther and farther away.

“Having trouble keeping up? Ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha!” 

Hook flips through the air finding flexibility he cannot remember ever having. When he finally comes to stop he finds his face hurts from smiling. 

“What is it you say in that game of chase you play? You’re it? Yes Peter, you’re it!” shouts Hook. 

“You got you old skunk” replies Pan amusedly from somewhere unseen. 

“Yes.. only this game will be your last my dear Pan.” whispers Hooks to himself, a wicked grin dancing upon his lips.

A mess of laughing and jeering comes streaming fast towards Hook growing louder and louder from somewhere in the trees. The tone is now suddenly void of any boyish charm. It’s more than a voice, it’s a spirit, a phantom from the past trailing thick wisps of agonizing nostalgia. Hook knows the voice and knows he doesn’t want to play that game. Hook is the child now, growing cold and beginning to shiver from fear. He turns and flees blind and senseless in a panic until at least regains himself. He finds that he has taken refuge at the top towering tree. Branches rustle behind him. Hook turns and squints through layers of branches and leaves. A blur goes past him, just a mixture of dark and light. Hook takes off. He flings himself over huge gaps, landing on thick branches. Then hook overhand like a spider monkey he makes his way into the denser heart of the jungle where flight is not possible. 

“Try to get me in here you bloody croc lover! Ha ha!” mutters Hook.

In the thick of the canopy, there is no fog. Hook waits and for a while hears nothing but his own breath-a little scared, a little excited… a little aroused. Then a sudden shake like someone landing on a sturdy branch. Hook smears a clammy palm on his trousers. The movement of the trees gets closer. He slinks laterally to move behind Pan for a killing strike.

“Damn it! Where…” Pan snaps a branch. “Blasted spiders!” More thrashing. Hook seizes on Pan’s outburst to zero in on his location. His good hand senses the blood of the slim, lithe body still mostly invisible in the gloom.

“Games over Pan.” roars Hook catching Pan off-guard.

“Wha…”

The captain’s black carapace hook slips deep and easy between the boy's ribs, ripping through flesh and muscle. Pan tries to jerk away bleeding profusely from his weeping wound and mouth but Hook twists his weapon hooking the inside of Pan’s rib-cage not allowing escape.

“I beat you. How does it feel boy?” whispers Hook into the boy’s ear. Hook strokes Pan’s cheek with his other hand for a moment before replacing his gentle touch with a hard smack.

“You think I don’t know how to play?” continues Hook. 

“Though I will admit, this was the funniest game I have ever played.” teases Hook. Pan’s eyes roll back as his body convulses before finally going limp and still. Hook stares at the now lifeless bloodied boy dangling from his hook. He throws the body unceremoniously to the jungle floor below. It strikes the ground with a hard wet thud. 

Hook takes his time returning to the ship. He finds a group of Durian Trees and easily opens the armored shell with his good hand. Strolling back he savors the foul-sweet taste of the fruit. When he finds the beach the sun shows it to be mid-afternoon. Smee, Mr. Mason, and Blickstein stand near the prow of the boat talking. When they see the captain their eyes widen.

“Captain! You’re back! Have you seen any of the other crew?” asks Smee excitedly.

“Of course I’m back Smee. I’ve only been gone a few hours” replies Hook taken aback by Smee’s uncalled-for concern. 

“It’s been two days sir. We stayed out of the forest to fish and watch over the boat and no one that has gone into the forest has come out, cept now you of-course” replies Smee.

Hook looks back at the treeline. Ferns and wide leafed bushes sway in the light breeze. Wisps of the fog tumble out between the plants heading out into the water. All at once, the island seems to become an entity to Captain Hook. It is not a piece of land with many separate creatures living their lives on it but instead one hive-minded demon designed to ensnare. Mr. Mason starts to narrate the past two days but Hook doesn’t listen. He thinks back to his game with Pan trying to recall details and figure out just how the hell he lost two days. 

After a few hours, the sun sets below the horizon giving way to night. Relief washes over Hook and Smee as Black Murphy’s huge frame shoves through the veil of the treeline. Strange symbols cover his body. They are drawn with mud and despite having dried and flaked a bit they still show an amazing level of intricacy. Over one shoulder he carries a dead pig, over the other he carries Cecco. He lays the pig down near the group.

“A gift from Zamallan. He wishes us good travels.” 

“Who is Zamallan? And what happened to Cecco?” demands Hook.

“Zamallan is a shaman of the monkey tribe here. I killed a wildcat that was killing his people and he named me an honorary warrior and presented me with this pig as thanks. I found our brother Cecco on my way back. He seems to have fallen out of the trees.

Black Murphy turns and strides down the beach, “I must finish the fancy words Zamallan told me to make sure our travels are safe.” A short distance down the beach he sits cross-legged and stares out to sea. His mouth works slowly but they can’t tell what he says. 

They pack the pork in salt barrels and cook fish on the beach. At midnight Noodler returns with two large leaves wrapped around berries, mushrooms, and bananas. An hour later Cookson comes back empty-handed and silent. In the morning they set sail once again setting their course by the light of the Piper’s clam. 

The next two days they sail with favorable winds through choppy seas. As they haul on ropes and wipe salt spray from their eyes the crew shares their experiences of the island in tidbits. Sometimes they go away from each other for an hour on separate jobs but continue their conversation as though no time had passed. They are accustomed to such talk.

Black Murphy rolls a cannon back so Mr. Mason can repair the gun port, “The cat was grey with black spots, big as you he was…” 

Smee shouts down for him to come haul up a fishing net. He returns twenty minutes later as Mr. Mason curses at the ill-fitting patch wood.

“…I saw the thing up in a tree waiting for someone along a path so I’s throws a spear at it…”

Cookson guts the fish and hands them to Noodler to be salted, “The most fear I ever felt. Trees looked at me with dead faces saying they was gonna wait till I slept and grow their roots into my eyes. It was so dark, dark everywhere and I couldn’t find my way out of the trees. They moved around and got me all confused…”

Between stories of the island Blickstein seizes moments to teach everyone the ship’s personality, “She always sails bettah when she’s been scrubbed. Bit of a princess she is. But if you treat her good she treats you good.”

The men are used to leaving blood spray and algae about the deck. Captain Hook always cared more about the efficiency of the looting than about the appearance of the ship, but a new fastidiousness seemed to have infused him. Hook enforces Blickstein’s recommendations. 

During the day, Hook steers the ship himself, relaying constant commands through Smee. When Bill Dukes spits on the deck while splicing two mooring lines together Hook screams at him to wipe it up with his shirt. Bill Dukes stares in disbelief from the bow barely able to discern the captain’s mustache from this distance, let alone tell if he spits. He mops it up quickly. The rest of the day passes normally, each man doing his best to better acquaint themselves with the new vessel and treat her right.

That night a cold and bitter wind beyond any chill they had ever experienced surrounds the ship as the sounds of painful sobs and blood-curdling wailing echos through the night filling the hearts of the crew with dread. After a few minutes, the source of the crying and wailing becomes clear as both below the water and above them in the skies they find themselves surrounded by ghostly glistening apparitions, all of them children and all of them mere phantoms of lives long passed.

It is an unearthly sight that causes some of them to cower and hide but not Hook, never Hook. Not even when the phantom of a young girl with blue frozen lips dressed in torn ragged clothes, holding a small box of ethereal burning matches comes face to face with him. Hooks does hide, he does not quiver; he just stares at her, his eyes cold. Mr. Mason feels a tear threaten to escape him as she passes him by, the sorrow in her eyes reverberating with the deep inner pain of his own heart. The spirit of the girl continues to stare at the men as she passes them, penetrating their souls with her mournful gaze before finally rejoining the haunting migration of souls. Hook looks at his crew, cowering behind barrels like frightened children and snickers in disgust. 

“Straighten your upper lips men there be no room for warm hearts or sentimental foolishness in my crew.” Shouts Hook as he makes his way over to the helm of the ship coming to a halt next to Smee.


	10. Oaths and Power

**Oaths and Power** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., The Land of Hearts, Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

“This Saint Belgroth’s Day is a dark one indeed. I assume you both have already heard of the atrocity at Fanoth.”

“Aye… The Queen has always been savage but until now you have been able to keep her mostly in check but this massacre at Fanoth is beyond the pale. Our intelligence reports are already estimating almost 100 dead and nearly 40 wounded. A majority of the town and crops burned, most of their livestock seized by the Queen.” replies Sir Rethinold his voice heavy with the weight of the matter being discussed.

“You speak the truth my friend and the worst part is this was not some dangerous enemy population. This was a town of loyal citizens and for what? All to find one little girl. Sir Rethinold, Sir Thrain you both have been my most trusted advisors and closest friends since we were children. You both know I only accepted the Black Crown and the Red Queen’s hand so that with any luck I could keep her in some form of control however it would appear that hope has failed.” continues the Red King.

“You cannot blame yourself sir. You have done the best job you can at keeping her wicked cruelty in line.” answers Sir Thrain.

“I hope I have. I tell myself I have but I must confess I am afraid. I fear that our people will be forced to endure even worse suffering and madness in the future so long as Queen Adelaide continues to wear the Red Crown. She has corrupted it’s noble red sheen of kindness with the crimson tint of blood. My heart weeps with sorrow at the suffering of the good people of Fanoth. This insanity… her insanity has become more than I can bear...” the Red King rests his burdened head on Sir Thrain’s shoulder trying to suppress the tears burning at his eyes. Sir Thrain engulfs his sire in his soothing embrace.

“Your father was a good man and a good king who would have never stood for an act of such heinous barbarism towards the people. Something must be done. Can you believe she sent Sir Brenithol’s forces to lead the attack on Fanoth, I mean the man is a monster Sire. We all know of the horrifically deviant appetites he has towards the children and the women folk of those he is sent to attack and the reports suggest Fanoth was no different.” Chimes in Sir Rethinold with a voice of anger and disgust.

“Indeed the Red Diamond Army was once such a noble brotherhood but now under Queen Adelaide they’ve become nothing but a pack of bloodthirsty beasts and Sir Brenithol is the worst among them.” responds Sir Thrain as the Red King raises his head, straightening up. 

“Aye… Brenithol is an abomination. Under my father he would have been dealt with harshly the moment his dark nature began to show itself. The three of us have always known since we first met Queen Adelaide that if she ever took her late mother’s place as the Red Queen of Hearts it would surely lead to war down the line. Civil Wars are bloody, violent things full of agony and torment but make no mistake that is what we three are discussing here.” Sir Rethinold and Sir Thrain both nod at the Red King’s words. 

“Are you saying it is time for us to make good on the oath we three took so long ago, sire?” asks Sir Rethinold.

“I am indeed.” 

“What’s the first step, sire?” asks Sir Thrain. 

“First… we go to see an old friend and reclaim the gift my father left me.” answers The Red King as he and his companions speed off towards someplace they hoped they would never need visit ever again.

***********

“This place… coming here… even after all these years, still chills me to my very bones.” proclaims the Red King, a shiver of past trauma creeps through him for a moment. 

“It seems the years have done nothing to help the smell, the air is still as putrid as ever.” remarks Sir Thrain, his tone heavy with revulsion as he raises his cloak to his mouth.

“Let's just hope she is in a pleasant mood or the smell will be the least of our worries" replies Sir Rethinold.

“Agreed my friends, after all without her help all our efforts to stop the Red Queen will be in vain. Remember, be alert but above all be respectful lest we anger her and one last thing my friends, I do not know what to expect but no matter what happens take no action against her unless I give the word.” After about another fifteen minutes of swift riding the three at last come to a stop before a large putrid bog drenched in deep shadow. The three dismount their steeds. 

The Red King takes a moment to compose himself before stepping cautiously towards the shore of the foul bog. The Red King kneels in respect at the bog’s edge sensing a presence he had hoped to never feel again drawing closer. 

“Oh great old one. It is I, the boy you once in your infinite compassion saved. I come to you now, a humble king on bended knee in this abode of your slumber. Please hear my words and reveal yourself to me fore I am in need of your assistance once again, in this dire hour when my kingdom stands on the precipice. I cannot do this alone. I need you… now more than ever.” silence sweeps across the whole of the forest as the pleading voice of the Red King settles upon the bog. Then it happens, the the air sparks and crackles as tiny streaks of lightning dance around the surface of the bog for a moment, as the sparks of electricity fade the surface of the bog boils until at last from out of the center of the bog rises a crawling sporadic woman, her flesh a stony dull grey bound tight around her gaunt starved form. 

“Poor child. Dying child. Saved child. Grown, so grown. Strong heart, good king against the madness. Darkness… darkness draws close… war looming in the dawn.” responds the strange woman, her jerking spasming body crawls rapidly towards the young man knelt before her like a surging mass of bent limbs and twisted flesh. Her body reeks of decay as she closes in; face to face with the young king. She places her hands softly on his face lifting him to his feet as she stands, her body naked and rotting. Maggots weave in and out of her flesh and orifices. The Red King continues to stare at her unwavering, mesmerized by her deep dark void-like eyes. 

“My father came to you long ago… he gave you something to give to me.” whispers the Red King softly into her ear as she pulls his body against hers. 

“Scared father. Dead father, sacrificed. Oath, crystallized in blood. Wish given form, power. Great power, gift for son.” responds the strange woman, her corpse breath bitter cold against his flesh.

“The hour has come great witch… the Red Queen’s madness must be stopped.” responds the Red King, his hands resting against the small of her back.

“Blood... blood of father. Given in exchange. Great Power offered in return. Drink in blood, drink in power. A Kiss, kiss make us stronger. A kiss make us one. Forever bound… forever one.” whispers the strange woman as she pulls the Red King into a deep passionate kiss. The Red King squirms at the affection, the feeling of worms in his mouth and the taste of putrefaction filling him. The Red King surrenders himself to her as the deep feeling of revulsion that had filled him gives way to a rush of radiant power swelling up inside him. The power was vast, unlike anything he had ever felt before. His mind sinks and fades into the abyss, accepting it… becoming it. Reality bleeds back into form as his mind jolts back into its fleshy temple. The Red King’s eyes open to see the rejuvenated and lively form of the bog witch. Her beauty was far beyond any he had ever set eyes on, he quivers at the warm touch of her nude body pressed against him. Together they stand, separate bodies but one will and one mind. The Red King turns to face his companions once again.

“It’s so good… so very good. You have no idea how wonderful it is to no longer be bound to this disgusting swamp and that rotting flesh-sack of a body.” muses the strange woman in a tone dripping with pleasure. 

“Perhaps you would honor us with an introduction?” presses Sir Thrain. The strange woman’s eyes dart to him, sizing him up and down.

“What you call me is unimportant, what matters is the contract I made with your king’s father to serve your king to the best of my power in exchange for his father’s soul and I am bound by the Dark to honor that contract.” answers the strange woman

“But we must have something to call you.” presses the Red King.

“Very well master, then you may call me Erithell.” declares Erithell with a respectful yet playful curtsy to the Red King. 

“I see, You don’t trust me. Much fear I sense from you.” continues Erithell casting her eyes upon the Red King’s two companions.

“How can I? You are a demon, a monster. Evil is your nature.” responds Sir Rethinold.

“Luckily I do not require your trust, I only live to serve my master. His will is my will and his wish is my wish. Bound together forever in blood and soul.” Erithell wraps her arms around the Red King from behind lovingly.

“Well then my friends we have chosen our path now we must walk it. Erithell I have your first order. We must return to the castle to prepare certain matters.” chimes in the Red King. 

“I want you to use all haste to assemble the names on this list and make sure that they all arrive at the specified location by nightfall tomorrow by the Order of the King, tell them this meeting is top-secret and they are to discuss it with no one not even the Queen. If they need convincing tell them I seek to put an end to their nightmares but I cannot do it alone”. Continues the Red King pulling a scroll from his coat and handing it to Erithell.

“As you wish master, it will be done.” responds Erithell bowing low to her new master before suddenly disappearing in a bright purplish flash of light.

“Now for you two” says the Red King turning to his companions “I want you to proceed to the Old Royal Hunting Lodge. I will return swiftly to the Castle to gather up some supplies and to inform the Queen that we are taking an extended hunting trip and will be back in a few days.” The companions nod and salute before riding off into the woods as quick as their horses will carry them.

  
  


***********

“How is the game my love?” asks the Red King leaning over and placing a soft loving kiss on the Red Queen’s cheek. The Red Queen adjusts her stance to better her next shot. The flamingo fidgets nervously in her group.

“Dreadfully, I have already had to execute 4 of my mallets” replies the Red Queen. 

“Perhaps all the stress from dealing with this situation concerning that girl has thrown off your game slightly.” muses the Red King, tenderly massaging his wife’s shoulders for a moment.

“It pains me to my very bones knowing she is out there, every day of her continued existence is a defying of my authority as Queen.” growls the Red Queen shrugging off the Red King’s hands. 

“Of course it is. I have come to collect some supplies my men have suggested that we take a small hunting trip. It has been awhile since I spent any real time with them as a king should. We will not be gone more than a few days. Is there anything I can do for you before I go.” continues the Red King.

“Yes, tell the Mallet Boy to bring some more. I have the feeling these one’s will be joining their fallen friends very soon.” answers the Red Queen menacingly.

“As you wish my love. I shall fetch the boy immediately.” the Red King turns to proceed inside the palace when suddenly a massive blinding bolt of light strikes the ground between him and the Red Queen.

“What strange bewilderment is this?” mutters the Red King as his vision starts to return revealing the strange gaunt form of mysterious orange and black clad stranger standing between him and the Red Queen. 

“Soldiers seize that stranger.” orders Red Queen fuming with rage at the unexpected intrusion. The Piper reaches his hand towards guards causing them to spontaneously incinerate on the spot. 

“Now… certainly that is enough of that, wouldn’t you agree my dear Queen… After-all you would run out of men long before I ran out of power and why fight when deals can be so much more advantageous to all parties involved.” declares the Piper as turns and bows deep to the Red Queen.

“Excuse me Stranger but have you name?” presses the Red King stepping toward Piper, hand on his sword.

“Many and none but for you Piper will suffice. However my name is not nearly as important as the deal I bring and the power I offer to you my honorable Red Queen.” proceeds the Piper rising from his bow and retrieving a scroll from the inside of his coat.

“Speak quickly Piper and pray I like what I hear.” demands the Red Queen coldly.

“Of Course… let’s start with that girl who has that sultry bosom of yours in such a tizzy. You want her dead, but think about it even if she dies she is just a symptom, an omen of the larger problem is she not? You know as well as I do that the real problem is the widespread festering of disloyalty in the hearts of your people. You are a good gracious queen who strives to enrich the lives of all your citizenry and how do they repay you?” proclaims the Piper beginning to pace back and forth before her. The Red Queen’s stare intensifies as she listens to the Piper.

“They repay you with lies, deceit, and anger. They are ungrateful and therefore unworthy of all the grand prosperity and blessings you offer. Their petulance must be punished and their scheming ring-leaders crushed.” anger brings the Red Queen’s blood to boiling point. 

“You deserve better. All Wonderland should do more than bow to your greatness. They should worship you for the true Goddess that you are. That is why I am here to humbly offer you the power to once and for all stamp out the treasonous spirit that infects your lands and bring all of Wonderland to heel under your overwhelming might. The power to make your reign absolute and eternal.” Proclaims the Piper, gesturing with grandiose flare.

“And what, good Piper would you want in return for this great gift of power.” counters the Red Queen. 

“Me… I want you to be the most powerful queen you can be, I want you to rule all of Wonderland with a mighty fist and then one day when the time is right I will ask you for just one simple thing.” answers the Piper.

“And what would that be?” presses the Red Queen, her brow rising with suspicion. 

“To join me in the most glorious battle of all time and when it’s over you will be even stronger than you were before and our deal will be complete. However, my dear Red Queen I am afraid I cannot offer you anytime to think about this for I am needed elsewhere. I assume my terms are not too steep?” answers the Piper opening the scroll and presenting it to the Red Queen, revealing it to be some sort of contract.

“No… no they are not.” replies the Red Queen, her paranoia reinforcing her certainty on the matter.

“Excellent.” declares the Piper presenting the Red Queen with a magnificent quill pen. 

“Then all that is required now is your signature.” directs the Piper, gesturing towards the spot on the scroll that she is to sign. The Red Queen signs. The letters stain the parchment red. Once the signing is done the Piper re-pockets the scroll with a gleeful jig. 

“Fantastic. Now the first power I offer is the magical and the second is the political. Here take this ring and wear it always fore in this ring is a magnificent stone of amazing power and so long as you wear it the magic already given to you by your queenly position will be increased a hundredfold.” chatters the Piper presenting a silver shimmering ring embedded with a bright crimson stone to the Red Queen.

“As for the political power I offer, it comes in the form of an alliance between you and another leader of great power from the lands far beyond the western horizon of your kingdom. I will arrange a meeting for the two of you at which time you may cement the terms of your alliance. The meeting will be arranged to take place in two days. Until then take some time to acquaint yourself with your new found magical power granted by that ring.” suggests the Piper. 

“Very Well I will await the meeting at which I will consider solidifying this alliance you seek for me.” answers the Red Queen with a subtle nod.

“Wonderful now unfortunately I must bid you farewell for now. See you soon dear Queen.” responds the Piper taking a few steps back, bowing one last time to the Red Queen and then vanishing in another bright flash of light. 

***********

After miles of walking Alice stumbles exhausted into a small meadow. She climbs a mossy boulder and endeavors to take a nap on it’s soothing sun-warmed surface. When she reaches the top of the boulder she sees a nearby family of deer, or something like a deer, grazing on long grasses. There are three full grown ones and two young ones. They have shaggy fur like a goat but are tall and lean like deer. She watches them waiting for one or all of them to pull out hats, cups and sugar cubes and have a tea party but defying her expectations they instead continue their mundane chewing.

Alice begins to remove her shoes in order to rest her feet more comfortably only to find that she barely recognizes her own shoes. When she came to Wonderland they were black and shiny with single straps held by silver buttons. Now they are scuffed, mud caked, the straps of her shoes dangle by ligaments of torn thread. She reckons the silver buttons of her shows are now most likely adding their glint to the wall. Her feet unfold as she frees them from her battered and damaged shoes. They seem at least two inches longer than she remembers.

Alice jumps startled almost falling off her perch on the boulder as from the edge of the clearing zips a black streak. The goat-deer scatter! One of the young ones stumbles. The black streak pounces into view, revealing itself to be a massive wild-cat. The monstrous cat’s fangs sink deep into the young goat-deer's neck as it tries to clamber back to its feet. For a minute the young goat-deer struggles, squirming in the crushing jaws of the brutal predator. Alice dares not move. Terror clenching her breasts. The big cat tears away chunks of the animal's flesh covering its mouth and whiskers in blood and clumps of fur. The other goat-deer can be seen at the edges of the clearing taking cautious nibbles of grasses as they stare on just watching their kin be devoured. They don’t seem sad, none of them speak up or fight. Alice sees only fear in their eyes. Fear that they are next. Rather than give up the soft grass for the roughage in the forest they graze beside their killer in a constant state of terror.

Hunkering low on the rock Alice tries to put her shoes back on. It is impossible. Her feet will not fit. She climbs back down quietly and sneaks away from the clearing. The big cat does not notice her. And if he had he wouldn’t have chased her. He will already have his fill tonight.

Later on, the butterfly finds her next to a stream scooping water into her mouth. Alice tells her the story of the big cat eating the goat-deer. They both agree the other goat-deer were stupid and should have either banded together and fought back against the big cat or moved away from it all together. It was not proper to have lunch next to a fresh crime scene. The butterfly describes big cities in the forest, abandoned for who knows how long. There she found nectar that made her grow to the size of a whale and fly above the city up into the stars where she danced up in space looking down at the planet. She promises to bring Alice some of the nectar the next time she visits. The butterfly lands on her nose and flaps there. (Their version of kissing a friend goodbye.) Then, she flaps away between the trees.

Alice begins to see signs of predators everywhere as she presses onward. Blood trails. Chewed bones. Giant spider webs. Miles of forested hillocks pass her by in paranoid sprints. She moves like a mouse taking quick steps and then lifting her nose to the wind. She eats wild zucchini and boysenberries and is constantly hungry for the first week, she fights against exhaustion, wildlife and new bodily sensations. Her newly tender breasts feel sore and irritated on a near constant basis and to her surprise they increasingly seem to be sticking out far more than she is comfortable with making her feel somehow exposed.

On the eighth day, walking with no aim except the vague pulling of her intuition, she finds a path. Choosing a direction she follows it. The trodden dirt is a welcome change for her bruised and scratched bare-feet.

Half a mile down, the path forks. Down one path Alice hears running water and turns towards it proceeding forward. The path opens onto a rock ledge with a stream angling in from the other direction. The stream tumbles down the ledge into a lagoon. She drinks and drinks. She dunks her head and flings her once golden curls like tentacles until they plaster themselves across her wet face. Then to her surprise she sees a young girl laying on her side sleeping beside the stream. 

“Hello? Are you sleeping?” no answer. Alice wrings out her hair and proceeds to walk toward the other girl.

“Hello! Are you from this place? wake up please.” The girl is wearing a pink dress with a white apron style front built into it. The dress is torn, reeks of mildew and has innumerable stains. Alice reaches down and shakes the girl’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry to wake you but…” the sleeping girl’s head flops to the side hanging onto the neck by only a thin strip of skin and carotid artery. Alice screams and scrambles back.

“She looks like me! She looks like me! It is me!” every function inside Alice shuts down except one… running. Passing branches scratch her arms and legs but she feels none of it. Her vision tunnels, as she runs as fast as her legs will carry her back the way she came. Upon returning to the fork in the path she bolts down the other direction not caring where it leads. The other path eventually opens up into a thick patch of white barked trees where the path widens. 

Breathing deep her lungs fill with the stench of bread as she continues down the path, slowly dense trees give way to small cottages. The network of small cottages swarms with busy, scurrying people going about their daily errands. Normal people, normal sized heads, not animals.

I’m back in England…That’s why this place seems so normal. I’ve woken up. I’m back in England thinks Alice, desperate for it to be true. They will help me get home. They will help me. Alice skips gleefully deeper into the village to ask for directions.


	11. Alice in the Village of the Head Swappers

**Alice in the Village of the Head Swappers** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., Beyond the Wall, Old Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

Alice lies passed-out in a chair in the main foyer of the cottage surrounded by many villagers examining her with trepid curiosity. One man with a tanned face and pale arms cracks his knuckles nervously, a nearby woman fiddles anxiously with her apron as Alice finally begins to stir from her sleep. Alice’s eyes flicker open slowly as her vision returns to her; she is greeted by the many nervous and frightened stares gathered around her. Her head throbs with pulsating pain. The last thing she remembers is staring down into a cup of tea with a slice of lemon floating in it like a disembodied smile.

To her surprise she finds she is still holding the cup though much of its contents have since spilled onto the dirty and tattered remains of her dress. Alice turns to the small table next to her setting down the tea, too suspicious of its contents to continue drinking. Her body feels weak, her nauseous stomach being made worse by the aching agony in her head. 

After a few more moments of tense silence Alice hears a knock at the door. A man answers the door greeting a woman in a green dress. They each remove their heads and exchange them. The woman leaves wearing the man’s head. The man with the woman’s head sits down and fiddles with the buttons on his shirt. Alice’s heart withers, she should have known it was too good to be true, she is still trapped in this awful place. She forces herself not to cry.

“We were told you ran away when the procedure started. What happened?” She isn’t sure who spoke. The cottage is cozy with wood paneled walls, a red rug, white curtains, a large jug and water basin with clay dishes beside it on a long table. Villagers sit and stand around the room, and Alice realizes they are all watching her, studying her.

“There’s been a mistake. I’ve never been here before, but I do need help. I’m afraid I have completely lost my way. Please tell me where I am? I am looking for a Pale Tower.” The villagers just stare at her, some shrugging shoulders or looking more terrified by the moment. Two of them exchange heads, but it doesn’t help their confusion. The crowd of people part revealing to Alice who has been speaking to her. A strange old woman in a dull gray dress with milky white eyes walks toward Alice coming to a stop a few paces away. 

“Dear girl, we have never heard of a Pale Tower. Is this a place on the other side of the wall?”

“No… I mean I did come from the other side of the wall, but that place is not my home, which is why I must find this Pale Tower… Please have any of you heard anything about where it might be?” Pleads Alice.

“ENOUGH, From where do you hail?” fear shoots through Alice’s spine at the suddenly aggressive tone of the woman. 

“England, I’m from England.” 

“How did you get here?” asks the woman her tone continuing to get more intimidating, making it feel more like an interrogation rather than a conversation.

“I don’t know. I fell asleep and woke up in this place. At first I thought I was dreaming. But this crazed nightmare of talking

Rabbits, Cardmen, and tea parties just won’t go away.” responds Alice, her anxiety rising with each passing moment.

“Why did you cross the Wall?”Presses the woman once again.

“I told you I am trying to get home?” repeats Alice her tone growing more exasperated. 

“STOP YOUR LYING… Now tell us who sent you or we will throw you back over the Wall.” Demands the woman stamping her foot.

“NO PLEASE… You can’t, the Red Queen is there. She won’t stop until she has my head.” begs Alice as some of the people touch their necks at her words. Alice notices as they touch their necks that they all have thin dark seam-like lines across their necks. Outside a nearby window Alice spots her friend the butterfly who waves at her, gesturing for Alice to come speak to her.

“I’m sorry please excuse me a moment.”

“NOT TILL YOU TELL US WHO SENT YOU” Shouts a nearby brute of a man as Alice climbs to her feet and starts to make her way towards the door. The old woman gestures for the man to be silent and let Alice pass.

Alice rushes over to the butterfly only to find her friend is already flapping away. There is another butterfly with her. The golden sunlight shining down heats their azure wings as they dance together like weightless sapphires. When the Butterfly sees Alice she flies over to her holding hands with her new companion.

“Meet my partner. I met him in the abandoned city up north. He is taking me to his family’s mating grounds! It’s all so romantic. But I did not want you to worry about me so I came to say goodbye.”

“Wait… What? You mean you are leaving, will I ever see you again.” responds Alice dismayed.

“Of course not, it is time for me to settle down and start a family.” answers the butterfly. 

“Wait… Please. This is all so sudden. I’m afraid and don’t know what to do. You’re my only friend here. Can you stay with me just a little while longer?” asks Alice desperately. 

The butterflies move a distance away and Alice hears their secret whispers. The villagers have filed out of the cottage and now stand watching the scene unfolding between Alice and the butterflies. The whispers of the butterflies grow louder and the partner’s deeper voice gains an angry, desperate tone.

“I’m sorry dear, but we simply can’t wait. We all have to grow up sometime. Honestly I thought you would be happy for me, not try to hold me back in this extended childhood you are holding onto.” responds the Butterfly her tone now dismissive and cruel.

“What are you talking about? I’m still only…” Alice pauses realizing she isn’t sure how old she is anymore. Despite her efforts, tears drop down her cheeks. She has never felt so alone. Her arms go limp. As the two butterflies fly off into the distance. 

“The girl was talking to those butterflies! She has already admitted she comes from over the Wall!” shouts the brute of a man.

“She is lying, the Queen’s not after her. She’s a spy sent by the Queen! She must be.” rages the woman to the crowd gathering around Alice. Alice hearing the accusations ringing around becomes ever more aware of the intimidating large crowd closing in on her.

“No I’m not… please!” cries Alice as she begins to stumble backwards away from the villagers. One of the villagers, a tall, plump woman comes from behind Alice’s right shoulder. The plump woman places her head on Alice’s shoulder startling her. Alice jerks away. 

“She’s just a young girl. She is not a spy. Let’s give her the procedure again and everything will be fine.” reasons the plumb woman to the mob. Alice, grateful for the woman’s defense is suddenly taken aback. That word: procedure. The word snaps her from her momentary relief as the image of her nearly headless twin lying near the river comes back to her. Many of the villagers start pointing at her, yelling and shouting. They are so loud, she can’t understand what they are saying. She feels like she is back in the Red Queen’s court.

They believe something about her, nonsense, pure nonsense. Even with one of their own supporting her she finds herself back pedaling. She stumbles over a bucket and catches herself on the corner of a log cabin. She sees it, something in the corner of her gaze, Alice turns her site to meet it. The Cheshire Cat appears to her sitting on a nearby splitting round smiling his signature razor grin.

“The days grow shorter and the nights are getting longer…Feels like we’re running out of time.” muses the cat to her, his voice a mocking mix of taunting and boredom. He makes his way over to her, gracefully leaping atop a stack of crates off to the side of the road next to Alice.

“Everyday it seems much harder telling right from wrong. You’ve got to read between the lines my dear.” continues the cat to her smoothly.

She steps toward the Cheshire Cat keeping one eye on the villagers who continue to move towards her slowly trying to box her in.

“Mr. Cat! Please help me! What do I do?” pleads Alice terrified.

“Fight the good fight of course. Every moment, never stop. It’s your only way really.” expecting more nonsense, or limericks the directness of the answer flabbergasts her. With an uncannily dexterous flick of the tail the Cheshire Cat directs her gaze to an object resting in the nearby splitting-round box beside them. Inside the box is a hatchet. The head and handle are sticky with sap but it is ground sharp to make fine kindling. She gingerly picks it up. It weighs nothing to her.

A crushing grip locks onto her left arm. Her fright transforms to anger as she swings the hatchet with every ounce of energy she has into the unknown figure gripping her arm from behind. The sharp edge of the hatchet buries itself deep into a bearded jawbone of the target, knocking the head off its neck. The body lets go, spasming as it lurches back. 

The crowd erupts into frantic bellows of blood-thirsty outrage. The Cheshire Cat bolts into a clump of teenage pines. Alice follows. She runs and runs. She feels like she has done nothing but run for years, maybe her whole life. Gradually she stops. The sounds of pursuit trickling off until she can hear only two voices still behind her. She breathes and strengthens her grip on the hatchet.

Grand, cosmic interplay finds a focal point within her. Layers of possibility converge as she decides there will be no more running. The anger from being accused by the villagers, and the Red Queen on top of her friend abandoning her forge her will into a diamond. The light of reality catches in that diamond refracting beams of varying choice that meld into a bright white focus. 

Alice turns to face the last two pursuing villagers. When they duck under the last branch and finally see their quarry they freeze. Alice locks eyes with the two young well-built brothers, who look like they spend their free time challenging the older men of the village to wrestling matches. Their faces go slack. One is holding a tree limb to use like a bat. The other has a length of rope. Alice stands with her shoulders slightly hunched, breathing deeply, her mouth open, lips pulled back in a silent growl. Her slim body covered by the sagging, dirty remnants of her dress. Her Hair hangs over her face in sweaty tendrils. Bare toes clench and un-clench on the floor of dead pine needles.

With the mob’s bravado quickly losing effect on the brothers they hesitate now unsure about what to do. Even after they back away towards the village Alice doesn’t move for quite some time. When she does, it isn’t hurried. She picks a direction and walks.


	12. Sanctuary

**Sanctuary** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., The Kinder Beschützer Institute, Pocket Dimension located off the western coast of England )**

The room appeared to have no walls and yet the floor and ceiling extended out in all directions before fading into invisibility.

“Where are we?” asks Mr. Darling as he, his family and the Lost Boys all prod the ground making sure they won’t fall through.

“Pact of Adam London Head Office,” answers the blonde woman in a heavy French accent. “My name is Jeanne d’Arc. Everyone knows me as Joan.” She makes her way over to Mrs. Darling first. She reaches out and shakes Mrs. Darling’s hand firmly.

Mrs. Darlings’ eyebrows jump up, “Any relation to ‘the’ Joan of Arc?”

“Yes, quite close actually.” replies Joan with an amused smirk.

The look Joan gives her makes Mrs. Darling blush. Although her face is line-less and youthful her eyes and expression carry a deep intricacy. There is a primal excitement, and a rebellious urge. Breaking away Joan goes straight toward Mulan who was now making her way over the group. Joan grabs her around the waist and pulls her into a lustful passionate kiss. Mrs. Darling and Wendy avert their eyes. The kiss goes on unnoticed by anyone else.

Sherlock lights his pipe. Squinting through the puffs of smoke he asks, “Is Watson alive?”

Vincent, who was busy making commands into his comm device, darts his eyes around the group suddenly afraid. The Lost Boys and Michael begin looking under seat cushions calling for Watson. Mulan disengages from Joan and walks stone-faced to one of the armories and opens it.

“He’s fine. Fool jumped off da cah.” Answers Mulan as she retrieves a new crossbow identical to the one she lost. Mulan returns to the group. As Vincent begins formal introductions.

“Mr. and Mrs. Darling this is Agent Mulan and this is her girlfriend Agent Joan. Agent Joan, Agent Mulan this is Mr. Darling, Mrs. Darling and their three children Wendy, John, and Michael.” John waves from his position by the car trying to sooth Nana. John finally coaxes Nana out of the car where she had been trembling.

“Shouldn’t we go back for him?” asks John, walking back over to the group with Nana following close behind.

Everyone turns to look at him. John pulls his shoulders back and stands as tall as he can. Nana sits next to him and for a moment he feels like a king. But when he meets eyes with the others in the room, this group of super powered spies, he realizes he is still just a dumb boy and lets his chin drop.

“I mean he is one of your friends right?” continues John. Sherlock grins enigmatically. Vincent goes back to his device and speaks something into it.

“There, I sent him a message to meet us at the institute. We don't have time to wait right now.” says Vincent as he turns to stare back at John reassuringly. 

“Who was that man who attacked us?” asks Mrs. Darling. The Lost Boys run over to their wounded and unconscious comrade Tootles. He looks so different to them hooked up to some unknown machine, sustained by some mechanical source beyond their understanding.

“We can discuss that while en-route to the Institute. Come on, it still might not be safe... even here.” replies Vincent.

“Aw there is our ride.” announces Sherlock walking between a short bookcase and the fireplace out into the open air. 

A large metallic vehicle appears hovering off the edge of the building in front of Sherlock. A door in the rear of the vehicle slides open and a ramp extends down to the ethereal wood flooring.

“Come on don’t dawdle. Hurry up, hurry up. We don’t have all day,” says Sherlock gesturing for everyone to get on board. Once everyone is on board and settled Vincent leans forward to the pilot, “The Institute please.” 

******

Illuminated in the warm orange glow of a fireplace stands the Woodsman, head lowered in shame. His failure afflicts him like a sickness. In this room he has trouble breathing. He feels the years in his bones despite the fact that he isn’t sure that he still has bones. In reality he knows it is Them. He puts himself towards the one free corner of the room while the other three are masked by a dark, oppressive force. They are hooded figures, seemingly many faced behind their shroud of shadow. They are self empowerment, dangling crowns, grasping sex organs, wreathed in the smoke of drugs and burning fat. Emotion pours from them making his head swirl. In this place his vision pixelates and he feels as if he can fall through the floor and be swallowed at any moment. The Woodsman does not speak. Despite all his power, silence is all he can do to maintain his composure in their presence. At last a voice like the crackle of a raging fire fills his mind. 

“Your failure is deeply disappointing Woodsman… an abysmal performance to witness…” declares the voice.

Another voice, less like speaking and more like the shuddering of the world, continues without pause, “But we are not without mercy…” 

“You have one more chance to fulfill your mission. Your targets have been taken to a secure location. Therefore we are assigning two more agents to help you in this attack. I believe you are already familiar with Kuchisake-Onna.” proclaims a third voice, like a river through an underground cave, taking over where the second voice left off.

Kuchisake steps out of the shadows before the Woodsman and approaches him. He realizes now that she had been standing there the whole time, but... _no she couldn’t have but then again she must've been_. He forgets how he himself even came into this room and decides not to pursue the thought. She bows to him and despite the veil covering the lower half of her face he can tell she was smiling. 

“You can say that,” responds the Woodsman disgusted. He grimaces slightly at the vile presence radiating from her.

“The centuries have been good to you Woodsman,” Kuchisake fiddles with the collar of her kimono.

“You appear the same as before as well,” replies the Woodsman choosing his words carefully. 

A foppishly dressed gentleman steps into the firelight as though he had just gotten up from a nearby armchair. Had that chair been there when he arrived? The Woodsman struggles to remember. The gentleman places a fresh cigarette into a long, tapered holder. He leans in close to the Woodsman, lighting the cigarette with the nearby fireplace. 

“This is Dorian Gray, he will also be helping you on this mission Woodsman.” proclaims the first of the three voices.

“Your reputation precedes you Woodsman, it is indeed an honor to finally meet you.” Dorian bows ostentatiously, flourishing with his cigarette. 

“Yes I am sure.” counters the Woodsman barely containing his indignance at man’s current invasive physical closeness. 

“Remember Woodsman this is your last chance…” booms all three voices in unison. 

The indignance remains as the shadows deepen and the room that may not have ever truly existed is pulled away. The walls recede in an instant just as the streets of London had at the end of his chase. No rest for the wicked echoes through the Woodman's mind like an assaulting mantra reflecting the inner nature of his twisted fate. It is these moments in the dark grasp of his masters that remind him he is a slave. It is only in these fleeting moments suspended between everywhere and nowhere that he is free. He knows that when he emerges from this nowhere place any amount of time may have passed. At the whim of his task-masters he may be returned to the world with only minutes having passed, or it may be decades, centuries yet for him it always feels like mere seconds. In these moments he tries to remember, desperate to keep from losing himself more and more each time. This time he thinks of sleep.

What was it like to sleep? Was it a darkness like this one? A swallowing thing? I don’t think so. There were dreams sometimes. Visions of different worlds. When it was darkness it was not an empty darkness, no not like this one where if I stepped too far I would fall and never stop falling. No. It was something else, a convalescence, a placing of things into piles. Yes, a time to gather oneself. Yes...no, no no. Not yet. Please not yet. Light returns as the Woodsman feels the cushion of sand under-boot.

*******

Within minutes the muffled drone of the jet engine drains excitement from John, Michael, and the Lost Boys. To everyone’s relief while Tootles was seriously injured the device Joan attached to him combined with the mysterious injection seemed to have stabilized him for now. The Lost Boys lie sprawled-out in a heap in the back of the craft snoring lightly. 

Wendy and her parents are strung tight as piano wire buzzing with nervous disbelief at everything around them. Mr. Darling hunches close to Sherlock asking endless questions. The detective, despite his initial reaction, decides it best to indulge the poor man and expound upon each subject at length barely listening to what came out of his own mouth. Mrs. Darling chews her thumb nail going over the past hour, then the past couple days, then the last few weeks ending up back in the present still not knowing what to do. Wendy does the only thing she can think to do… look out the window. At first she does so to avoid Vincent but he remains locked into various conversations with his strange silver device so she relaxes and allows herself to just look for the sake of looking. London thins out in the distance and then is gone. Rolling green countryside streams by, covered in patches of lingering snow. Wave battered rocky coasts surge by and then are gone to. 

The vessel is strange to Wendy. She knows that they are moving with great speed and yet she does not feel it, no shaking, no nothing. The water beneath them shifts, grey-blue white caps smoothing almost immediately into the bright sky blue tropical waters. The jet slows and descends. Wendy presses her face even more to the window to see what they are coming up to but cannot get the right angle. 

Soon enough she can see sand. Dunes spotted with patches of long grass stretch away from the waters gradually giving way to crab grass meadows. Here and there she sees exercise equipment planted in the organized circles of sand. Dense trees appear for a brief moment and then open up again into a wide circular courtyard. The jet slowly descends down in the heart of the courtyard. It rotates and then Wendy sees it. Her window now faces a massive, beautifully ornate manor. 

The Institute’s brilliant, white facade is lined with palladian windows. An octagonal cupola topped with a caduceus protruding from the roof of the west wing giving the building an attractive asymmetry. Vegetable gardens fan out from the east keeping a practical distance from the treeline. The west gardens are decorative with manicured rows of flowers separated by gravel paths and fountains. 

The landing wakes Nana who nudges the boys and licks their faces. The vehicle’s door slides open and everyone files from the jet and then down the central promenade towards the manor. Something about this place feels different to the newcomers. To The Lost Boys it feels like they are back in Neverland, back home. They sprint between columns of roses and leap onto the various lion statues that adorn the nearby grounds. Upon landing Joan rushes Tootles into the building to receive the proper medical attention. Vincent remains to take care of the rest of the group. The Darlings feel like they have cinnamon under their skin, the sensation is subtle and pleasant but alien enough that they struggle slightly to enjoy it. Vincent swings open the doors of the manor revealing a gigantic entry hall as Mulan ushers everyone inside. 

“Welcome to The Institute, your new home away from home.” declares Vincent warmly. 

Okay, so there is much to do so let’s all take a little breather and we talk again over dinner. As for myself I shall go retrieve Watson.” chimes in Sherlock before excusing himself and disappearing back-out the front door.


	13. Ghost from the Past

**Ghost from the Past:**   
**( 1911 A.D., The Forbidden Waters, South-Western Province, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

Two days after leaving the island of fog Hook invites Smee to his quarters just after sunset. Smee closes the door and stands stiffly just inside. The Captain has his boots and jacket off revealing his perfectly toned chest.  
“Good evening Mr. Smee, care for a drink?” asks Hook striding over to Mr. Smee carrying a freshly opened bottle of spiced rum. His aura of menacing power and unabashed confidence radiates from him stronger than ever causing Mr. Smee to take a few steps back against the wall by the door. Hook slides in close to Smee gazing deep into his eyes. Smee’s blood begins to boil as he feels the Captain’s breath on his neck. Hook drags the point of his good hand against the wall just off to the side of Smee’s face. Smee’s lips quiver against the feeling of Hook’s thigh rubbing gently against his expansionist member.  
“It has been awhile since we had a moment as fine as this hasn’t Smee?” coos Hook in Smee’s ear.   
“In… indeed it has c… c… cap'n.” replies Mr. Smee stuttering with rapidly intensifying arousal.  
“I can feel a strange new power surging inside me Smee, I can sense destiny drawing me towards absolute victory with you by my side to share it.”  
“I have noticed, you seem much more shall I say vigorous lately, more full of strength. I like it.” replies Mr. Smee wrapping his arms around Hook's neck tenderly.   
“As do I… as do I” mutters back Hook. Lips lock and bodies intertwine as the hours fade into passionate lustful bliss.

******

Three days of smooth sailing take them deeper still into the heart of the Forbidden Waters. Deeper into the unknown. Closer to the end of their great journey.   
“Debris off the port bow!” calls down Blickstein from the crow’s nest. Smee extends his telescope and scans the waters.   
“Broken boards. Pieces of cloth. Could be the remnants of a ship Captain.” He hands the glass to Hook.  
Hook gives the wheel to Smee and looks through the lens. As he looks to the horizon the clam in his pocket heats up and shakes. He pulls it out of his pocket and the light shines like a blade in the direction he was looking. It glows red with heat causing Hook to snarl, throwing the shell into the sea. The ocean waters ahead of them suddenly begin to churn and glow a bright white as about a mile out among the waves a monolithic mass of white stone starts to bubble up from beneath the waves.   
The crew gapes slack-jawed as a bright white obelisk continues rising up from the water’s surface, dumping unfathomable gallons from its stone seams and cracks. Near the top of the great looming tower is a skinny diamond shaped. The hole gushes water as the tower grows to over a hundred feet tall, then two hundred, five hundred. It pierces the thin clouds of the heavens. Eventually, a grand door emerges in the base of the tower. The tower itself rests atop a wide, rocky island as its foundation. When the last water drips from the structure the men realize the tower is not bright because of reflected light, but instead from a dull pale glow coming from the very material of the towers outer-surface. The waters finally mellow into a calm soothing stillness.   
“There’s our new heading men! Adjust the sails!” Demands Hook, his voice ringing with excitement.  
Hook cranks the wheel, turning toward the massive pale spire but stops. Smee, eye to the telescope again, grabs the Captain’s arm firmly in warning as from behind the tower creeps the skeletal figurehead of the Jolly Roger. Next comes the black hull with the red stripes along its portholes. The ship rounds the small island quickly, rushing straight for them against the wind.   
“It’s the Roger! She’s back to reclaim us!” calls out Noodler, his tone raked with fear.  
“How can it be? She was dashed apart by the storm!” declares Mr. Mason in contradiction of his own eyes.  
The familiar ship takes an angle as if to cut off their path to the tower. Hook can’t pull his gaze from the ship as he watches an all too familiar flag rises up the mainsail. The flag is light blue with a crude black shark sewn on it. Hook nearly drops the telescope. He looks at Smee with such a look of disturbed disbelief that for a moment Smee doesn’t recognize him.   
“What is it Captain?” asks Smee.  
Hook doesn’t answer. Instead, he vaults the railing to the main deck and charges to the bow almost knocking Bill Dukes overboard. At the bow, he lifts the telescope again trying to see the man at the helm of the Jolly Roger. Slowly the Jolly Roger moves closer along their port-side until they eventually nearly perpendicular to each other. As the sails change angle they reveal to Hook the answer he seeks, the man captaining the other ship. He is a man of medium height and slim build. Despite not being overly tall his aristocratic manner and straight-backed posture make him seem imposing. Hook immediately recognizes the long, raven hair and sharp mustache that he himself continues to emulate.   
“It cannot be… Captain Pescaro, you bloody fop.” Hook leans against the railing and grins. Hook hurries back to the wheel.  
“Mr. Smee, alter course fifteen degrees starboard. Make him chase us.” instructs Hook.   
“Black Murphy! Grab two men and move the desk from my cabin out onto the deck!” orders Hook decisively.   
The wind shifts for a moment making the taut sails billow. The Stille Jäger moves into the Pale Tower’s shadow. Waves hit the broad side of the ship making it list heavily. The men moving the desk stumble and curse. Blickstein climbs down from the crow’s nest as the Jolly Roger moves in closer oblivious to the change in wind.   
“Blickstein! Noodler!” The men race over to receive their orders. “Hoist our reserve anchor up to the crow’s nest. On my command fling it off the starboard side.” demands Hook. Blickstein stares open-mouthed at the captain for a moment but Noodler yanks him along. Black Murphy scoots the huge desk the last foot out onto the deck. His huge chest heaves. His helpers, Mr. Mason and Bill Dukes, pant and rub fresh bruises.   
“Good form men. Now move one of the cannons into my cabin and aim it out the back windows.”  
“But sir…this ship has thirty-two pounders on the main deck. How do you expect us to move it in these seas?”   
The slight insubordination triggers a deep cold anger. Hook scours Bill Dukes with the granite stare of a killer. Hook thinks back to his early days as a captain when he had killed two crew members who refused his orders. But actions have consequences and those deaths nearly caused a mutiny. He quickly learned that if you want a crew of fearless killers you can’t use fear to ensure loyalty. You must gain their respect.   
Hook strides to a cannon and releases the securing rope. Black Murphy raises a hand to begin a protest but lets it drop. As the ship leans from a fresh wave, the cannon rolls toward the center of the ship. At amidships Hook plants his feet and using his good hand in the barrel he spins the cannon ninety degrees.   
The chitin running through his limbs acts like added muscle convulsing with raw force far greater than his actual body. Although it gives him a pleasant sensation of power, it also seems to make small slices in his skin whenever it is utilized. The constant pain keeps him alert and focused.   
The men, much like Blickstein, watch Hook work dumbstruck as sea spray drags hair into their eyes.   
“I do believe you will figure out a way. Now get to it you bloody bilge rats.” barks Hook, his demonstration done.  
Hook returns to the helm and watches the Jolly Roger slowly approach them from behind. As it nears he begins to see that it is not quite the Jolly Roger he remembers. The bow normally is adorned with a polished pale skeletal mass pieced together from several different men with a common skull at the tip but not this version of the Jolly Roger, no. This Jolly Roger’s bow is decorated with the massive smooth wooden effigy of a young boy’s head. The elven features and crown of leaves make it crystal clear to Hook who the head is meant to depict. Pescaro always did love his games, none more than mind games during competition.   
Pescaro steers the Jolly Roger wide to port before then cutting back to starboard. Hook knows they must act fast, fore in moments they will be in range of the Roger’s long guns. The wind continues to slam whitecaps against the port broad side of the Stille Jäger. The Stille Jäger loses forward momentum and begins to slide sideways.   
“Captain we’re going to be helpless if we let the waves beat us around any further.” reports Smee.   
“I’m well aware Mr. Smee. Make the adjustments to keep a little taste of the wind as you must but keep the waves on our side.”  
The ship begins to rock farther and farther to each side. As the Jolly Roger closes in directly behind them it cuts hard into the waves and lets its cannons bark. One shot makes a whole through two of the square sails and another bites a few feet above the water line. The Roger weaves out to the side and then back letting the opposite cannons have their turn. Three hit this time, shredding through one of the gun levels.   
The crew struggles to keep the sails from tangling in the wind with so few men. Waves begin to splash over the sides. Hook looks up at the Pale Tower. The evanescent stone beckons and challenges him at the same time. Claim me, if you are strong enough it whispers to his soul. It wants me. I can feel it, but only if I can make it there alive.  
“Cannon in Place Sir” Shouts the men after at last getting the cannon into position in the captain’s cabin.   
“Mr. Dukes!” bellows Hook.  
“Yes Captain?”  
“On the Roger’s next pass, send it a kiss from the newly placed cannon!”  
“Aye Aye. Give her a big smooch I will!” replies Mr. Dukes scurrying to fulfill the order.  
The Jolly Roger continues its serpentine attack strategy but as it moves in close to fire its next volley Bill Dukes lights off the secret cannon. The blast blows out most of the windows and sends the cannon ten feet backward onto the deck. The shot hits the Roger dead center smashing between two of the Roger’s frontal cannons.   
After that the Jolly Roger instead decides to go out wide and circle back heading for a close up drive-by style attack. By this time the Stille Jäger is going almost directly sideways. When the Jolly Roger passes by them the sideways movement of the Stille Jäger brings the ships within boarding distance. The ships both rock aiming their cannons up into the afternoon sun, then down into the waves. Hook looks at the half opaque crew manning his old ship with vague recollections. Some are fallen rivals. Some are dead friends. Others are people from his childhood. His grade school teacher. The salty fellow who bought the fish he used to catch on his first boat.   
Hook knows he only has enough men to fire two cannons at a time but the Roger can probably let-loose ten to fifteen shots on a single pass. He has to take the ship’s brain to win. The moment has come and Hook seizes it.  
“Cannons fire and Loose the anchor!”  
Bill Dukes and Mr. Mason light off the two deck cannons. They angle down through the main deck and out the back of the opposing ship. Noodler and Blickstein hurl the anchor from the crow’s nest towards the deck of the Roger as their ship leans past forty five degrees toward their enemy. The cast iron anchor busts through the deck and the cargo portal but doesn’t get down to the bilge of the Roger. The Jolly Roger fires its own cannons gouging hole after hole into the Stille Jäger’s starboard side. The Stille Jäger begins to drink the sea.   
Hook bolts towards the railing.  
“Captain where are you…” begins Smee.  
Hook doesn’t hear the rest of Smee’s question. Hook leaps over the expanse between the two vessels. The sound blocked out by the crashing of waves, the creaking of breaking wood and the rushing of wind. He lands on the deck of the Roger, his sword unsheathed and at the ready. The phantom crew doesn’t move to attack him, they just stare at him from their posts. Hook strides through them as they bombard him with demoralizing insults.  
“You know no one grows up in Neverland. That means you haven’t grown at all either.” shouts the ghost of his old school teacher.  
“Still the same child in an old man’s body.” jeers the phantom visage of an old classmate.  
“You hate children because you want to bugger ‘em! You want to bugger Pan the most!” chides the phantom of a bruised, broken and bleeding boy who Hook knew all too well but would prefer stayed buried.   
Hook lets the words soak in, fueling his anger. His rage burns blue hot deep within him spreading flame through all the black tendrils that have intertwined themselves within his muscles. He finds Pescaro at the helm garbed in loose silk pants, dark red with a silver stripes down each leg, and a white, sleeveless tunic belted with black leather. Pescaro’s face is delicately sculpted, his hands strong yet with fingers meant to play ivory keys. Next to him stands the translucent image of his mentor’s old first mate, Fernando. Pescaro relinquishes the wheel to Fernando and with a flourish of his wrist bows to Hook.  
“Buenos Dias James. Good to see you are finally starting to expand your horizons; fighting big boys now. Not just snot nosed fairy ones.” declares Pescaro tauntingly.  
“Actually in all honesty I find it very difficult to distinguish the difference between yourself and a snot nosed fairy boy Pescaro.” responds Hook with a smirk of subtle menace.  
Pescaro laughs, “Well, in your mental state I’ll bet you are starting to see children everywhere.” He gestures behind Hook.  
Hook glances over his shoulder and sees that the crew are no longer grown people from his past but instead young boys covered in dirty clothes and jungle debris. They are all the Lost Boys that he and his crew have killed over the years battling Pan. Seeing them again spikes his rage to new levels, he wants to dig his good hand into their guts and hoist them all up among the sails so that their blood may paint the deck red.   
Hook screams savagely until the crowd of phantom boys slowly parts clearing a path for a young boy unlike the others but still familiar, not a lost boy but rather the ghost of someone he had killed long before the Neverlands, long before Pan ever came into his life and changed it forever. Hook stares at the boy, his heart flooding with emotions of a time he had thought long behind him; his first kill, the first of many, his original sin.   
“You may have thought these ghostly tricks wise Pescaro… playing with my emotions but you see my sins are not my weakness, they are my strength.” Hook turns violently back towards Pescaro. There is a quick shuffle of feet and as the song of Pescaro’s blade unsheathing fills the air. Hook lunges his blade at Pescaro. Pescaro dodges gracefully. Hook parries a little late as Pescaro’s sword slashes down upon him, grazing him down his left shoulder. A minor wound. He counters with a set of quick thrusts that Pescaro easily evades.  
“Bad form, bad form, even from you; an effeminate dandy who spends more time playing games. You're even more worthless than the dull ilk you had for a crew. I was the only useful one in the whole damn lot of them” presses Hook, scolding Pescaro.   
“You haven’t learned anything James. This is all a game don’t you see? We’re all just pawns being shuffled around. All games have a pattern, and the more games you play the more patterns you recognize. Sooner or later you start to realize there are only so many patterns that will allow you to win.” Pescaro attacks again swinging wide to the side, then down diagonally. His blade strikes at Hook; straight thrust, downward swipe, upward swipe. Hook coolly defends against each blow.  
“The world is made of little games. The game of love, the game of business. Each has their own set of rules, and each one a winning pattern.”  
Hook thinks back to his time on the island of fog. Rocketing through the forest canopy, playing hide and seek with the Pan before finally sinking his good hand into the little bastard’s heart. Then back further to the Stille Jäger’s flight over the coral reef.   
The two captains exchange attacks. They flow around each other, down the stairs to the main deck. They duck, and sidestep, parry, rush forward. Hook feels the new power of the carapace jolt through him like pure bittersweet energy however even with his new power Pescaro manages to keep up without even breaking a sweat.   
“Even death is a game, and you start playing long before you cash in, trust me. James my boy you couldn’t beat me in checkers, how do you think to beat me at this?” presses Pescaro mockingly.   
Hook makes wide horizontal swings driving Pescaro back, then grabs a line with a large tackle block near the end and swings it at Pescaro’s head. Pescaro leaps back and smirks. Sheathing his sword as Hook snags a small sack from inside his trouser pocket.   
“What’s this James? Trying to pay me off?” jokes Pescaro taking note of the small sack.  
“No old friend, your bribes always required a pillow on which to bite. I’m just borrowing a winning strategy.” Hook up-turns the bag over his head letting twinkling dust dance down upon his body. Reaching down deep inside himself Hook channels ever happy thought he can muster, lifting his body into the sky. He stares down at Pescaro smiling. Hook winks at him, then takes off flying circles around the Jolly Roger.  
Hook strikes out with his sword slicing his way through the Jolly Roger’s rigging. He targets the sails support lines sending the sails crumpling onto the deck. Hook laughs but not a menacing or hateful laugh but instead one of pure hilarity, of fun. He watches the phantom crew scurry about trying to repair the lines but seeming losing what little solidity they have as the ropes simply fall through their hands.   
Hook cackles returning to the real battle at hand as he dives down toward Pescaro. Hook lashes out slashing some of the rigging above where Pescaro stands covering him in restricting ropes and debri. Hook finishes his dive with the killing kiss of his blade through Pescaro's heart. Pescaro falls and with him the Roger, Pescaro and the phantom crew fade to ash and dissipate into the waves below. Hook bolts towards the monolithic shimmering tower absent of all thoughts but one, he must get to the tower before it is too late. He burns it all desperate to increase speed, all his joy, all his rage. He pushes himself harder than he ever has before as darkness begins to over take his vision and his mind begins to numb. All goes black.


	14. The Mistress of the Tower

**The Mistress of the Tower** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., The Pale Tower, Old Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

The ethereal blue moon leers down from the shimmering night sky. The bitter night air violates Alice to the bone but she will not bend to it nor shiver at its touch. She has traveled far too long for that. Days fading into weeks, weeks into months. Time has long since lost all meaning to her now, lost in the midst of the constant struggle for each new day. Each new day growing more savage, more brutal than the last. Alice knows that she is drawing close to the answer she has fought so hard for so long to reach. She can feel that she is at-last on the precipice of her journey’s end. 

The Tower she has sought for so long now stands within her site. Alice can see its great pearlescent halo radiating above it just beyond the horizon of the forest canopy stretching out before her. She pushes onward. The dirt path she now walks slopes upward over a small hill ahead of her but is obscured by a dark green overgrowth of shadowed bushes and vines. Unwilling to be deterred any longer she forces her way through them, her voice a constant echoing song of painful screams and determined growls. She forces her body between dense brier patches. They catch the ragged ends of her used-to-be dress further tearing it leaving her now completely naked and exposed to the barbarism of the cold harsh world. Large thorns pierce and dig into her soft subtle flesh leaving bleeding shallow trenches across her skin but she dares not be distracted by the pain, she dare not waver even for a moment. She refuses to falter, she rages on, lest her last shred of sanity fall away from her. She binds her attention firmly on keeping her feet moving and her hand firm around the hatchet handle. 

Stepping clear of the brambles, bushes and vines she mounts the crest of the small hill. Through a gap between the thick sprawling branches above her, she can see her destination even more clearly. She can see the whole top half of the tower. It glows like condensed starlight. As she continues with all haste along the path the trees begin to thin out letting more bright specks of the tower shine through here and there. Even at her current distance, she can feel the pale ghostly light radiating from the tower, it's soothing and yet invigorating. She forgets her fatigue, and all the dangers she has endured. She rushes on towards the tower myopically focused on her destination, darting through the shadowed landscape towards the light illuminating the end of her long dark road. The light of a way home. 

Naked, dirty and bleeding. Drenched in sweat and tears she shatters through the edge of the forest at last coming into the vast illuminated circular clearing where the glowing, white stone base of the tower juts out from the cool wet grass stabbing into violet jewel-speckled firmament above. At the base of the great structure, she collapses panting, exhausted, triumphant. Refuge at last she thinks, salvation. The last step home. 

Collapsed upon the altar of her journey’s end she, at last, allows herself to reflect on all the pain and torment she had endured to get here. The biblical accounts her sister used to read to her do not seem so silly anymore. On the contrary, they now seem blunted, dulled. Despite all the suffering, she overcame every hardship from starvation to combat spurred on by the one all-consuming desire; the desire to go back to her beloved sister, to her cherished mother, to her loving home. But what of that home, she is not the same girl who left it, after everything she has endured all that she has done is she even worthy of that love, of that home anymore? This feeling, this fear has become her dark passenger, her nagging, nipping companion through-out her quest. Now that she is here, it fills her with trepidation and it is this same dark passenger who now accompanies her as she climbs back to her feet and presses forward across the radiant threshold of the tower. 

Her filthy naked feet look even more black back-lit by the silver light of the tower steps. What she first takes to be marble actually seems to be some form of warm milky-white crystal molded seamlessly into the form of architecture. The door at the top of the stairs, though ornate, reminds her of the door at home with the same handle and thumb latch. She knocks, swaying a little. Unable to anticipate who or what might answer. 

She glances back for a moment, it is strange standing at the door. a great wave of isolation washes over her. From where she now stands all the world outside the perimeter of the tower’s plasmatic aura seems to exist only as endless darkness. No forest, no assaulting wind, no monsters. She feels as if suddenly adrift in an infinite void. A void between everywhere and nowhere, between nothing and everything, between the final moment of who she was and the eternity of who she will become. 

Perhaps I’ve died and this is heaven she thinks to herself, every rapping of her fingers against the door seems to reverberate, echoing all around her, through her. The noise of her knocking growing into a cascading cacophony of noise, threatening to extinguish her completely until suddenly it all gives way to silence as the door opens. She is greeted by a man in a purple pin-striped suit. His teeth are thin and sharp. 

“We’ve been expecting. Please, do come in. My mistress is very eager to meet you.” She moves to enter falling forward as the darkness takes her.

****

Alice awakens in a room made of shining white crystal molded perfectly into polished, smooth form. The bed on which she lays is both exceedingly cozy yet curiously familiar. She snuggles her face into the soft comfy pillow beneath her, trying to remember how she actually got into the bed. The “bed” if you can call it that appears to be a perfect mimicry of her bed at home. Only upon close inspection, it becomes clear that it too glistens slightly with the same sheen as the rest of the room as if the bed and room are composed somehow of the same material, yet not. 

Alice un-tucks herself from the bed. She climbs to her feet and is greeted by the realization that she was in fact still very naked but as the thought of her nakedness bounds through her mind, a portion of the nearby crystal wall rapidly shifts. The material of the wall changes and morphs, stretching out into the form of a long pole adorned with a replica of her favorite dress from back home with shoes and leggings to match. 

Alice’s heart spills-over with glee at the sight of the familiar dress. She reaches out to grab it but stops herself just short of reaching it, taking note of the fact that she was still covered in blood and muck. The thought of a soothing bath rises in her for a moment but the moment is broken by the sound of gently bubbling water behind her. She turns her gaze to the source of the sound. She finds that what she was sure was once an empty corner of the room now contained a sunken square pool of inviting churning water. It seemed only big enough for perhaps two people at most, which is more than enough for her. 

Alice makes her way over to the sunken pool, climbing into the relaxing warm waters of the tub. The steam of the waterworks wonders, breaking through all the dirt and dust that has accumulated in her sinuses over the long journey, allowing her to breathe more easily. A soft moan of tranquil pleasure escapes from Alice’s lips as the bubbles massage her body, chipping away at all her built-up tension and stress.

“I see the tub is to your liking. I hope the dress and bed are as well.” Alice yelps slightly as she stands up, turning towards the source of the unknown voice. Alice’s eyes are greeted by a hovering shimmering sphere of pulsating pink and white churning light. An amused giggle escapes the sphere as it transforms, expanding and twisting into the outline of a person before condensing into the flesh and blood form of a beautiful slender-built woman. To Alice’s uneducated eyes the women seemed to be born of some sort of Asian descent. 

The woman has jagged shoulder-length platinum hair. Her whole body from her delicate looking flesh and eyes to her hair seems to emit an unearthly palish-pink glow. Alice stands transfixed by the radiant being standing before her until she suddenly remembers that she is still indeed naked and immediately lowers her body as quickly as she can back into the water blushing with embarrassment. 

“I am so sorry dear, I didn't mean to intrude but there is no need for embarrassment. Modesty may be a virtue to some but it is not one I have ever put much stock in.” The mysterious woman giggles for a moment.

“I mean after all you mortals are born naked so why should your nakedness cause you embarrassment, I am certainly not offended by it.” The woman’s voice seems to echo with the sound of many voices within it all at once. Alice wondered if it is the voice of many women or perhaps all women speaking in unison. 

Alice thinks to herself for a moment about the woman’s words. Alice herself had often wondered why the natural state of being naked was so frowned upon. Alice realizes she has never really been able to figure out a satisfying answer however this woman was still a stranger so Alice thought it best to keep her body hidden beneath the water at least for now.

“If you would please forgive my bluntness but who are you?”

“Who me? Oh... You, mortals, have called me by so many names however none of you have ever gotten it right [The woman laughs for a moment covering her mouth with her hand]. My name is Ishrakie and I am the Master of this Tower and all its sisters throughout the Multiverse of Creation. Ishrakie kneels playfully to Alice before vanishing and suddenly reappearing naked in the water of the bath behind Alice.

“These cuts are deep and need proper treatment.” whispers Ishrakie ghosting her hands over the deep lacerations up and down Alice’s back. Alice unsure if she should turn around and face Ishrakie decides to just keep facing forward allowing Ishrakie to examine her wounds.

“Again I apologize but what are you?” asks Alice with her back still to Ishrakie. 

“Okay, three things; one please stop apologizing for asking questions, there is nothing wrong with wanting answers or being curious. Two; what I am would be difficult to explain in terms you can understand however the most accurate answer I can give is that I am what you mortals refer to as a goddess. Three; I would like you to drink the contents of that bottle [Ishrakie points one of her hands at the edge of the tub in front of Alice causing a small bottle to appear out of thin air].” answers Ishrakie in her seemingly typical mollifying voice. 

“So let me get this straight. You’re a goddess.” replies Alice quizzically. 

“Yes, That’s right.” responds Ishrakie amused by the confused look on Alice’s face. 

“Okay… and what’s in the bottle? It won’t make me grow, or shrink, or become a balloon and float into the sky?” asks Alice, examining it. Ishrakie lets out a small laugh.

“No my dear, its brew will help heal any remaining internal injuries you may have sustained along your journey.” answers Ishrakie. Alice does as she is instructed and drinks the contents of the bottle. Ishrakie begins to rub a heated viscous substance over Alice’s back wounds. The substance sends surges of pleasurable warmth through Alice’s body causing little quivers to dance across her lips. Her muscles sink into a state of deep relaxation. Alice leans forward resting her head against her arms on the edge of the tub. 

“Wha… what is tha… that you’re app… applying,” asks Alice trying to keep her voice steady. 

“This substance is designed to speed up the healing of external injuries and prevent infection. Is it not satisfactory?” responds Ishrakie. 

“No… it’s… it’s fine… it’s wonderful.” answers Alice as tiny little moans of tranquil relief escape her. 

“I’m glad. Your journey here was rough but I am beyond happy that you have finally made it to this place, to me” continues Ishrakie. The air in front of Alice swirls coalescing into the form of the tattered ripped clothing she had lost outside the tower.

“I had these retrieved just in case they still held any sentimental value to you. Do you wish to keep them?” Alice just stares at her old clothes for a moment examining all the dirt and bloodstains that cover them, each a reminder of all the suffering she had endured to get here. Her eyes move from examining the torn dress to the remains of her mangled panties noticing a bloodstain she had not noticed along her journey nor can she remember how the blood had gotten there. 

“No… they hold no positive value for me. I have no need for them.” responds Alice allowing herself to relax even further under Ishrakie’s touch. Alice knew it was strange but something about Ishrakie’s touch was so familiar like she had known it all her life. 

“Very well.” Ishrakie casts her eyes momentarily to Alice’s old clothes causing them to evaporate into a swarm of silvery glowing wisps which then vanish into nothingness. 

“Wait Ishrakie, if you are a goddess, did you create everything?” 

“No the multiverse is my father’s creation, although I did provide the circulatory network required to sustain his creation” explains Ishrakie. Ishrakie proceeds on to washing the rest of Alice’s body moving her hands up and down Alice’s arms and neck massaging and exfoliating as she goes. After a few minutes, Ishrakie moves from washing Alice’s upper body to her lower body starting at her lower legs and moving slowly up past the back of her knees, up the upper legs to just below Alice’s bottom. 

“Are you okay?” inquires Ishrakie as she begins to massage Alice’s bottom being careful to stay clear of the more sensitive areas. Alice nods lost in the feeling. After a few more moments of calm silence, Ishrakie steps out of the pool. Alice looks up at Ishrakie’s naked body, finally getting her best look at Ishrakie yet. She notices Ishrakie’s ears poke out from under her platinum hair ever so slightly due to their pointed elven-like shape. Alice’s gaze moves down Ishrakie’s back to her exposed buttocks and then down her slender but defined legs. Ishrakie snaps her fingers with her left hand causing the clothes that she had been wearing before to reform over her body. 

“It is good to see you so relaxed and at peace. You faced many hardships getting her. I saw it and though I was not with you my assistant was.” declares Ishrakie snapping her fingers with her right hand causing an elegant chair to form out of the material of the floor. A bowing svelte man with a purple and black striped blush tail, matching dress-suit and bowler hat steps through a flickering tear in the ether of the air beside her, the tear sealing rapidly behind him. The man has ragged dark ebony hair and bright lavender irises. He leans in close to Ishrakie as she rotates sitting down in the chair she summoned facing Alice. 

Ishrakie turns to face the man and mouths something to him that Alice does not understand. The man nods and walks over to a nearby wall, To Alice’s eye there is a sort-of subtle inhuman grace to the way the man moves as he walks. Reaching the nearby wall he draws a square with one of his curved pointed fingernails causing the small square portion of the wall to swing open. He reaches into the wall up to his shoulder; feeling around. After a light clattering of porcelain, he retrieves a teapot and two cups. The man returns to Ishrakie’s side with the tea. A table morphs out of the floor in front of Ishrakie upon which the man places the tea and two cups. A dish of sugar cubes sprouts from the table next to where he places the tea-pot. Ishrakie gestures for Alice to sit next to her at the table as another chair grows from the floor next to Ishrakie. 

Alice climbs out of the water blushing slightly at her own nudity, Ishrakie giggles and waves her hand towards Alice causing the replica dress, leggings and shoes hanging on the nearby pole to vanish and reappear on Alice’s instantly dry body, fitting perfectly. The odd man was so familiar. Alice watches him intently as he summons up a chair of his own on the other side of Ishrakie before sitting down in it. From out of the spot on the table in front of him appears a large saucer of warm milk instead of tea. It is at this moment realization strikes Alice. 

“Cheshire Cat... is that you?” asks a surprised Alice abruptly. The man grins widely. Ishrakie smiles as she drinks more of her tea, darting her gaze between Alice and Chesire. 

“You got me. It’s like Ishrakie said. Her assistant; me was with you along and for what it's worth I am also very glad you made it.” replies Cheshire, he drinks a bit more of his warm milk. Alice finds his style of drinking perplexing as he constantly adjusts the saucer as he drinks so that he is constantly drinking from a different section of the saucer. Ishrakie watches Alice stare at Cheshire amused by the confused look on her face.

“So my dear Alice...” presses Ishrakie, snapping Alice from her confusion. 

“Uh… oh I am sorry, that was rude of me to stare. You were saying?” replies Alice turning back to Ishrakie. 

“Yes it was but we are forgiving. Tell me, what do you think of my home here?” asks Ishrakie, gesturing to her radiant surroundings.

“It’s strange but in a way that is beautiful rather than deadly.” Alice titters slightly. 

“You mean as opposed to the more lethal strangeness of the rest of my creation.” continues Ishrakie. Looking at Alice from behind her teacup. 

“Don’t forget your favorite creation; me.” muses Cheshire playfully.

“Well of course none of my creations can ever compare to you, my sweet kitty.” coos Ishrakie, reaching over and ruffling Cheshire’s hair lovingly. Cheshire purs, nuzzling into her touch. After a few moments, Ishrakie withdraws her hand from Cheshire as the two resume drinking their beverages. Alice finds this interaction between them both fascinatingly adorable provoking a smile to dance across her lips. Alice takes another drink of her tea. Cheshire tip-toes his fingers over to two of the sugar cubes and drops them into his milk then continues drinking. 

“This is a wonderful place Ishrakie, really it is but…” begins Alice. 

“But it’s not home. I understand but there is still more we need to discuss.” interrupts Ishrakie understandingly. Ishrakie suddenly clenches her bosom, wincing in pain. Cheshire springs from his chair, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close. Ishrakie's throat tightens and her chest heaves, her whole body savaged by painful spasms. After a few moments, the chaos of agonizing tremors inside her passes leaving her exhausted. Cheshire strokes her hair lovingly. 

“However it seems that discussion must wait my dear Alice. I must go… I must rest.” continues Ishrakie breathing heavily. Ishrakie smiles as best she can for a moment at Alice. Ishrakie nods to Cheshire before snapping her fingers and vanishing in a brilliant flash of pink-hued light. 

“Is she okay?” queries Alice turning to Cheshire. 

“That is a question that is not mine to answer at this time.” responds Cheshire with a smile. Neither his smile nor his tone does anything to hide his obvious worry from Alice. She can see the fear in his eyes. The fear he seeks to hide; fear of a child facing the inevitability of a great coming loss. A feeling she knew all too well.

Cheshire and Alice continue to drink their tea in awkward silence for some time. Upon finishing his milk, Cheshire stands up, clicking his heels.

“Come, come. There is much to see.” he declares to Alice, pulling an ornate pocket watch out of his waist-coat, checking the time and then placing it back into his pocket. Alice takes one final long gulp of her tea. Alice stands up, placing her now empty teacup back onto its saucer before gesturing for Cheshire to lead the way. 

Outside the room is a small landing among a spiraling staircase. The stairs going up and down seem to stretch off into infinity in both directions. They go up. Cheshire's shiny Oxfords go clicka-tap on the steps. 

“Many of the rooms that will be available to you right now have been created with you in mind and are there to help you learn and provide you with whatever various comforts you may seek.” explains Cheshire gesturing towards the many mirror-like doors that they pass while proceeding ever higher up the spiral staircase.

They move through rooms and down twisting hallways passed open doorways, some spewing fragrant steam, some project music, a few of the rooms are blank stone seemingly empty.

Alice walks silently taking it all in as her guide continues to pontificate through abstract topics talking of architects, programs, and layers of reality. Alice barely understands him. The last classroom lessons she remembers consisted of matters more mundane; shapes, angles and the temperature at which water boils. They turn through a doorway and then proceed down a short hall before turning again through a second door. A terrible scream erupts from Alice as she steps through the door to find nothing but open air. She clings tight to Cheshire in fear of a fall that does not come. After a few moments of holding on to Cheshire for dear life, she notices that gravity is seemingly asleep on the job. She looks behind to find the door back has vanished, replaced by an open sky. Looking down she sees a vast rocky landscape stretched several hundred feet below her. 

“You know you can let go of me now child, you're quite safe” utters Cheshire patting Alice on the head. Alice let’s go, regaining her composure. 

“But how can this be dear cat? Why do we not fall?” asks Alice bewildered. 

“What? Do you wish to fall?” retorts Cheshire.

“No. No, of course not” replies Alice her tone almost pleading. 

“Then why should you fall?” retorts Cheshire. 

“I never really considered it to be a matter of wanting?” responds Alice.

“My dear girl, some beings are bound by reality to whom the rules almost always apply, some beings make reality and for whom there are almost no rules at all and then there are some beings that are somewhere in between and for whom the rules are more flexible. In this place you and I are the Latter of these three options” answers Cheshire. Alice nods only partially understanding. They walk through sunset skies for what seems like forever until finally passing through another door. The door opens up onto a great cavernous ballroom. 

The room is elegantly ornate and dazzlingly bright. From the towering ceiling hangs thousands of chandeliers. Speckled among the many chandeliers are larger, more intricate chandeliers. They are all covered with millions upon millions of tiny shimmering shards of crystalline light. Upon close inspection she can see among the many shimmering shards there are some that are dull, some are cloud, others are cracked and broken. 

“It’s beautiful!” blurts Alice in awe.

“Do you know the circulatory system is Alice?” asks Cheshire staring up at the vast expanse of crystal chandeliers.

“Yes of course but why do you ask?”

“Well, you see the Multiverse also has a Circulatory System, two of them actually but one is far more important than the other. This more important system regulates the flow, build-up and integrity of Universal Energy; or Life Force if that is easier for you to understand just as your circulatory system does for the blood that moves through your body. Your body would die without your circulatory system doing its job would it not?” 

“Without a doubt” replies Alice, her tone made uneasy at the unpleasantness of the thought. 

“Exactly, the Multiverse is no different, it needs this crucial circulatory system to function and function properly or like you, it would die. The only difference is that in your case the death is singular and isolated but if the Multiverse dies then everyone everywhere dies with it, all of us. Let me show you something.” continues Cheshire walking towards the center of the room as from out of the great cosmic sea of chandeliers above them descends a massive singular chandelier of splendid proportions. It descends until its lowermost dangling shard softly kisses the floor. He comes to a stop directly in front of the great chandelier, he looks back at Alice for a moment beckoning her to his side. Alice does as she is instructed coming to a stop beside him.

“Watch.” whispers Cheshire. He snaps his fingers and suddenly all the light in the room except for the light coming from the many thousands of chandelier crystals is sucked from the room leaving only the ghostly soft brilliance of the many millions of star-like gems. He snaps his fingers again causing a few thousand shards among the several million to exchange their gentle pale white glow for a deeper red radiance. 

“These red shards are the variance worlds which contain this tower’s many sisters. These Towers form a network that spans the whole of the Multiverse” explains Cheshire to Alice still whispering.

“The circulatory system you were telling me about” responds Alice trying her best to be quiet as well. 

“Yes Indeed. Now each of these towers does for the Life Force moving through its part of the network what your heart does for your blood. Keeps it all moving in a harmonious rhythm.” continues Cheshire. He reaches out and gently taps the nearest red crystal causing them all to suddenly sing and vibrant for a moment as the most central crimson shard at the heart of the network turns a bright sapphire blue. 

“That blue one there, that’s here, that’s this Tower. It is the most crucial, can you guess why?” asks Cheshire kneeling and placing an arm around her shoulder.

“It’s because of Ishrakie isn’t it? It’s because this is her tower specifically.” responds Alice as understanding settles upon her.

“Correct but why is Ishrakie so important to this system. She created yes but why else?” replies Cheshire, he smiles at Alice before turning his attention back to the chandelier.

“Well I was told my brain controls my heart so maybe Ishrakie is the brain of the network, she made and it needs her to function just like my heart needs my brain.” answers back Alice, a subtle grim feeling building inside her. 

“Very very good.” continues Cheshire as he stands back up.

“She’s dying isn’t she?” asks Alice, her voice soft but serious. 

“I think I have shown enough” responds Cheshire, his voice shaky. He turns to Alice masked by a fake smile but his eyes betray him confirming Alice’s suspicions. 

“I should go check on Ishrakie.” He snaps his fingers and they are suddenly back in the room where they had earlier had their tea. Alice lowers her head saddened by what she knows but he refuses to say. He makes his way over to the door out of the room, opening it. 

“I’m sorry” utters Alice understandingly to him. Cheshire pauses mid-step fore moment at her words before leaving and shutting the door behind him.


	15. The Pale Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I was extra nervous about this chapter and so I would appreciate any feedback on how to improve it where necessary.

**The Pale Tower** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., The Pale Tower, South-Western Province, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

Hook once again finds himself crawling from a choppy sea onto a beach. Before him the Pale Tower glows a faint glistening white. Black Murphy lumbers to his side. Shards of wood stick out from his shoulders like porcupine quills. Smee, Blickstein, and Noodler join them bearing their own signs of the battle. The battle-scared lifeless bodies of Mr. Mason’s, Bill Dukes, Cookson, and Cecco litter the beach around them. Hook dares not look, dares not feel, dares not acknowledge the loss for risk of emotional hesitation. Hook knows there will be time to mourn but not right now, not this moment. 

The Pale Tower’s gate is some form of brilliant white metal, somehow untarnished by the sea. The door has no recognizable locking mechanism. Hook ghosts his fingers over the door's warm smooth surface eliciting from it a mysterious phantom song. 

“What is this place captain? How did you know about this place?” 

“I cannot explain it Mr. Smee. All I can tell you is big changes are coming to the Neverlands, and we will be the ones to make them.” responds Hook, more confident and more sure than Smee has seen him for a long time.

“With respect captain, this is all happening so fast. After that last battle with Pan and we lost the Jolly Roger things haven’t felt right. I mean, what is that black stuff all over your body? Why did we sail off into waters we never dared go into before, losing our ship and most of our men in the process? What happened to you in that croc sir?”

The past whirls through Hook’s head once more. Smee as usual pulls questions out of his own head and makes them solid. He lets his mind stroll back to his encounter with the Piper. The memory is fuzzy but he remembers the man’s bizarre suit, his jovial air, and the tremendous aura of power that he exuded. Hook tries to think of a way to explain it all to his men, but it seems too big. Something is missing.

“I’ll be honest with you men…I don’t have the answers for you. What I do know is I made a bargain for my life back on that beach and Captain Hook always keeps his side of a bargain. I was told to find this tower and the only way we will learn the truth is by getting inside. There will be time to mourn our fallen comrades but now is not that moment. Now…what exactly is the state of our vessel?” declares Hook to his downtrodden men, desperate to reassure them and protect their drive from the paralyzation of grieve. 

“Afloat, but like a chunk of Swiss cheese Captain.” reports Smee trying to regain his proper composure. 

“Very Well. If she can stay afloat I want Black Murphy, Blickstein, and Noodler to anchor her. If not, beach her on the west side. Smee, you will come with me into the tower.” orders Hook firmly.

When Hook grasps the doors’s handles, strange inter-connected rings embedded in the door begin to slowly twist and melt away. The massive door swings inward smoothly. The luminous interior is made of the same iridescent stone as the exterior. There are no adornments on the walls and no doorways. The ground level looks to be an open circular foyer with the entrance to a stairway on the far side. Each stone on this level is massive, perhaps three feet thick and taller than the average man. In awe, they stare up the massive central spiraling staircase trying to keep their jaws from dropping. The men stare at each other for a moment finding reassurance in each other’s eyes before proceeding together up the stairs.

As they climb they expect to encounter landings, or rooms along the way but the walls never break as the spiral staircase continues to climb ever-higher. A wound on Smee’s side starts to bleed through his shirt. His breathing becomes heavy as he leans against the wall to support himself. 

“Bloody stairs! I’d gut a child if they would end.” utters Smee grimacing. He channels his focus, forcing himself to continue onward. After feeling like they have been walking for a lifetime the stairs at last open up into a grand chamber shaped like a closed lotus. The walls of the great circular room are lined with many tall, skinny windows the shape of lizard pupils all parallel to, and evenly spaced from each other. Placed atop a large smooth pillar in the center of the chamber looms a tall throne. The pillar and the throne seem to be made of the same iridescent white stone as the rest of the structure. The throne fascinates Hook with it’s many odd details. Hook and Smee climb the second set of stairs that ascend the central pillar. Upon reaching the top they begin to examine the throne even closer. Hook runs his fingers over the many strange symbols covering the armrests and backrest of the throne. 

Floating above the throne near the peak of the ceiling is a large black sphere emanating wisps of silver energy. Hook longs for a closer look at the radiant sphere. The desire crystallizes in his mind causing floating white stone steps to suddenly rise from the floor before them creating a levitating staircase leading from the throne up to the sphere. The two men decided to ascend the floating staircase. The sphere is sleek and polished to an immaculate shine. To Hook’s surprise the sphere is engraved with the same style of symbols as the throne. The huge sphere seems to be perpetually rotating, the movement is slow and subtle but it is there. Hook feels a slight buzzing throughout all the black carapace in his body. Quiet whispers dances through his blood from black lattice growing out of his flesh. The whispers chant to him in a language he doesn’t know. Hook feels himself sink into the whispers. 

“Cap…you al…” Smee’s voice is faint and faraway. “Sn…ow…uh…i.” 

Smee shakes Hook frantically by the shoulders as Hook continues to stare transfixed at the sphere. Hook's face becomes strained, like the face of a man trying to understand the politics of mermaids. When Smee gets no reaction for several minutes he puts a controlling hand on Hook’s good wrist and reaches for Hook’s sword hilt with the other. When he grasps the captain’s sword Hook’s eyes jolt back to a malicious clarity. His good hand jerks toward Smee’s belly but Smee dodges.

“What are you doing Smee?” snarls Hook.

“Sorry Captain, but it was the only thing I could think of to snap you out of it. I was afraid you were having your wits taken from you.” replies Smee softly stroking the back of Hook’s head. Hook casts his eyes to the still bleeding wound in Smee’s side. Hook kisses Smee on the forehead realizing once again how much Smee endures on a regular basis for him.

Hook glances up at the sphere for a moment. “We should proceed back down to the throne to see if we can activate this thing but first how bad is that wound? Can you make it?” Hook continues looking back to Smee concerned. Smee nods and they proceed. Hook moves in close, wrapping his arms around Smee to help steady him as they descend back down to the throne. Suddenly the sound of tearing canvas fills the room. They turn to the source of the ruckus and see a ethereal black rift of some kind spewing energy up from out of the floor nearby. The two men watch in shock as narrow gloved fingers poke through the rift forcing it to open wider. From out of the howling black rift steps The Piper. He lets the fabric of reality zip closed behind him. Today he wears a yellow tunic with yellow and brown striped pants. He doffs his pointed cap with a twirl of his wrist bowing slightly to the two men.

“Good afternoon gentlemen. I’m quite tickled to see that you have finally arrived at the Pale Tower.”

The Piper glides forward on his spindly legs and extends a hand. Smee stiffens, putting a hand on his sword.

“What manner of devil are you?” growls Smee. Hook places a soft hand on Smee’s shoulder and awkwardly shakes the Piper’s hand with his good hand. Smee looks at Hook confused.

“Do not worry Smee. This is the man who gave me my life back after we lost the Roger.” Smee relaxes but doesn’t release his sword. The Piper, unperturbed, just continues to smile. 

“I’ve fulfilled the first part of our bargain. It’s time you gave me some answers.” demands Hook in a polite but firm tone.

The Piper chuckles, “Quite right, quite right. Don’t worry. I can probably guess your questions. Let’s start with who am I?” He gestures to ask for agreement. The two men nod in unison. 

“Splendid!” The Piper turns and strolls around the room looking up at the sphere. “I assume you remember the tale of the man with a flute who led the rats from the village of Hamelin? Well, that tale originates from one of my more mundane business ventures. You see, I’ve always had a gift for making people follow me. If my temperament had been more agreeable perhaps I would have been remembered as a great General, but I was never one for blood and battlefields. Eventually, I was given a gift, much the way I gave you one. This gift brought me out of my world and into a larger one.” The Piper ascends the floating stairs leading up to the stone. 

“Now I am sure your next question would be about what this place is. This stone is a nexus point which connects the world of the Neverlands to many other worlds. This includes the world where you were both born, as well as many others. This tower is my gift to you Hook and by making it here you have proved your worthiness to possess it. This tower was built when this world was created and thus it holds many secrets and powers however you will need some time to master and learn these secrets and powers. You must stay here for awhile and practice using the abilities of this tower in order for you to achieve your dream of becoming god of all the Neverlands.” continues the Piper finally reaching the sphere.

“Pray tell, what hoops must I jump through now?” muses Hook sarcastically. 

The Piper pauses for a moment as he looks deep into Hook’s eyes, filling Hook with more fear than he has ever felt in his life. 

“I don’t appreciate your tone James. I’ve been nothing but a humble guide to you thus far. I did not design your obstacles to watch you as a man of science watches his mice. If I could do this myself I would but unfortunately I cannot. If you do not want my assistance…” presses the Piper with a tone of subtle menace.

“My apologies. I’m just not accustomed to being on the receiving end of orders.” replies Hook apologetically. The Piper grins. 

“Trust me my friend these are orders you will be all too willing to follow. May I continue?” The Piper softly dances his hand across the surface of the sphere for a moment. Hooks nods and gestures for the piper to continue talking.

“Well first it is like I said, your next objective is to learn what you can from this tower. Sit on the throne and listen to his many songs and whispers. As you learn you will grow in power. The tower also contains many treasures so you will need to find them and learn to utilize them for your own benefit and the benefit of what crew you have left. Speaking of which.” The Piper gestures from his current position to Smee’s wound causing it to instantaneously heal itself leaving no traces of injury.

“Once you have done all this you will be ready to take your rightful place and reshape the Neverlands as you see fit.” continues the Piper. The Piper leans in and whispers something unknown to the sphere before placing a soft kiss upon its surface causing the runes on the stone flicker with a blue flame. The silver energy erupts from the sphere and starts to flow around the men, wrapping around their arms and legs like a blind person learning to see faces with fingertips. 

The Piper pulls out a long, silver crystal that was tucked in his belt. He points it at the sphere, peering around its surface searching for something. Smee leans around slightly for a better look.

“What exactly are you looking for?” asks Smee.

“Let’s just say I’m trying to give you some shortcuts. Ahh!” replies the Piper with a chuckle. The Piper leaps up, clambering onto the stone. Halfway to the top he stops next to a rune and lifts the crystal above his head. He stabs it down hard into the stone. A powerful shudder ripples out of the sphere, making the whole world quake. A deep boom follows with a descending rumble. A deep red hue slowly contaminates the silver plasmatic energy swirling around the sphere. Ghostly green tendrils emanate from the wound in the sphere created by the crystal. The tendrils pull the crystal in deeper, consuming it. The blue flames coming the runes of the sphere turn to a dull maroon colored blaze. The Piper jumps back down to the throne and puts a hand on Hook’s shoulder. 

“It’s time for you to become the true king of the Neverlands my boy. I look forward to our next meeting, I truly do.” and with that the Piper vanishes in a brilliant flash of light.

Hook stares at the throne and deep-down he can feel the throne staring back at him. He sees now that the throne, the pillar and the floor are one solid piece. He hesitates to sit. Two sides of him battle with each other. One is his old, familiar mind; patient and calculating. It wants to be prepared for whatever will happen. The other side, this new set of instincts that seem to be growing stronger with each passing day compel him forward. There is an odd feeling inside Hook, a feeling akin to curiosity and déjà vu mixed together. After standing before the tall, stone chair for several minutes he decides that both parts of him want the power and power he shall have.

Captain Hook spins around and lowers himself onto the throne. Lightning enters his bones. All his muscles seize up, freezing him in place. The runes of the throne glow the same deep red as the sphere. Three of the runes at the top of the backrest send a beam of crimson cascading down onto Hook’s head, filling his mind with an intruding pressure. 

Hook suddenly feels a great cosmic inhale as the throne breathes energy from the whole of the Neverlands and sends it like an invading blitzkrieg into Hook’s psyche. Hook feels himself expanding into the chair, then up and out, into the sphere, into the walls and then out further still. Hook looks down at himself from above while simultaneously looking up at himself from below. When his mind propels out in all directions like a fountain. There is his ship, and his crew making repairs. Then a school of fish swimming by the millions through the open ocean. 

~~~~~ shifts on the left. Turn right. Return to ====. Stay close to the ^^^, something LARGE approaching. ~~~~~ shifts up and right. Sudden cold. Return to ====. Swim. Find food. Swim. Hook suddenly feels very wet as if he has been dunked in the sea. The sensation confuses Hook. He isn’t a fish is he? No, impossible but then again he is sure he just was one for at-least a moment.

Hook is in the sky again. All the memories of his life crash down upon him like a tidal wave. Fast, too fast, his mind expands further blasting all the way back to the Neverland's proper, back to the forests. He becomes a Fairy, a Warbling Monkey, a Keejo, a Frog Batross. The sands lecture him on finer merits of submissiveness. Clouds teach him how to be weightless, and rise above his own inner troubles. For several hours he finds himself trapped deep in the minds of trees becoming tangled in their pecking order of root system politics. 

His mind finds Blackfrost Port. The huge increase in human minds is a powerful squall that strains his already stretched thin consciousness. Back in the throne his body thrashes with the effort. His good hand carves thin gashes into the side of the throne. Unable to endure anymore his mind wrenches free. Hook topples out onto the floor. Sweat covers his spasming body. Every muscle aches as his head throbs with overwhelming agony. He tries to sit up, but doesn’t have the strength. One thought passes through his mind before it shuts down; Pan did not die on the misty island. Pan is alive… 

After days of becoming exhausted after only a few minutes in the throne Hook finally determines through trial and error how best to control the expansion of his mind. Even still the exertion it requires to maintain the control fatigues him but he does not give up. His mornings are spent sweating in the chair and in the evenings he decides to take walks downstairs and feel the ocean on his face. 

Although he has no mirrors he can tell the black carapace is spreading faster however luckily being in the tower makes the symbiotic substance less aggravating to his body. Also, to his relief the stuff doesn’t seem to want to swallow him completely. The growth on his left arm has stopped. Tendrils of the dark carapace have started spreading from his right eye, growing up into his hair creating bald trenches in his long, black waves. 

Hook strolls down the stairs for the evening, feeling ten years younger and even stronger than he actually was ten years ago. Forty-two steps down from the throne room Hook stops. One of the sections of wall-stone looks different. Upon close inspection Hook observes there is a very small, faint etching of a door-like arch. When Hook touches the small etching the stone wall-section swings inward smoothly, with only a whisper of scraping stone. 

Inside the room there is a forest. Thick roots spread out across the white stone floors. Vines and moss cling to the walls. Hook walks up to the closest tree, a tree that is unlike any tree he has ever seen before. It has thin, dangling branches like a weeping willow but it shines like metal. The bark is dappled and smooth. Too smooth Hook thinks. It feels warm yet hard as steel. Hook traces his fingers across the surface of the tree causing the areas where he touches it to shutter and squirm. He continues deeper into the artificial glen. As he creeps his way through the thick foliage and trees one of the nearby branches gently slides across his cheek causing images to burst into Hook’s head. Open books. Runes. Out of focus figures pointing toward a chalkboard. Runes on the chalkboard organized into columns. Pairs of symbols and pictures. A pear with a rune. A strawberry with two runes. Hook shakes his head and the images fade.

Deep in the forest Hook finds a tree speckled with many knots sticking out of its trunk. There is almost no space between the knots. Some of the gnarled knots are big while others are small. The branches of the tree reach upward and are adorned with tiny, perfectly circular leaves. Hook touches one of the shallow knots. Soldiers in grey uniforms pack bullets into their musket barrels. Gun-smoke hangs in the air like Halloween mist. Shouts. Cannon blasts. The scared cries of horses and men. The deep cold touch of death. Hook pulls his hand back and the scene dissolves. 

He touches a large knot. A black sky filled with unfamiliar stars. On the right a great cloud of viridian, yellow, and grass green vapors spreads wide as a large dark ship slowly eclipses the nebula. Smaller ships move around the larger ship in all directions. Hook feels a frigid floating sensation, and the buzzing sound of true silence. Every few seconds one of the smaller ships turns black as though burnt, or melts halfway and fades into the distance. He pulls his hand back again. This is beyond me he decides. I need Smee for such an endeavor. Where is he? Hook gets up to go look for Smee but as soon as he does time and space shift around him moving back passed the trees and out onto the stairs once again bringing him face to face with Smee; still wet from a swim. 

“Just the man I wanted to see.” declares Hook, grabbing Smee by the shoulder.

“How goes matters with the men and the ship Smee?”

“All due respect Captain, everything is so kooky nowadays I can hardly keep up. I expect I’ll wake up any day now in Cannibal Cove head pounding from the bottles of rum I drank.” Hook guffaws at Smee’s words, nodding understandingly. Smee chuckles playfully back. 

“I notice the men have not come into the tower. Have their bellies gone yellow?” continues Hook.

“They say that the place gives them the creeps. They say their dreams are being haunted by an evil white witch. They think she lives at the top of the tower. I told them there was no witch but they still won’t come up.”

“Well Smee, I’m glad you are made of nails and not sewn together by a maiden. Come and see this.”

He steps back into the room of trees. Smee follows. Despite no change in his facial expression Hook can tell his old friend is just as surprised as he was. 

“Choose a tree, and put your hand on it.”

Smee walks toward the weeping willow that Hook first touched. He brushes aside a branch and freezes. His back goes rigid and his knees lock. For several minutes he sways. Small groans come out now and then. Some sound like agreement, others like confusion. Then, he faints. Hook crouches below the branches and pulls his friend out from under them. Smee recovers quickly. He looks up at the captain with wide, confused eyes. After a moment, this too passes. He grins and sits up.

“I’ve just been to kindergarten.”

“What? Speak sense Mr. Smee.”

“It is a lesson. I’ve learned some of this bizarre language.”

For the next week Hook and Smee stay in the room of trees. He and Smee learn to read the runic language and then move onto other subjects. They study the history of many worlds, they read alien legends. Smee learns advanced mathematics. Hook deciphers instruction manuals for wondrous devices. On the eighth day, while heading downstairs, he finds a new doorway. Reading the runes above the doorway a childlike excitement runs down his spine. The runes say, “Armory.” 

After two more weeks the Stille Jäger is more than just repaired it is unrecognizable. With Smee in charge of upgrading the ship, Hook continued to spend the time trying to further his control of the throne’s powers. During this time he gains control over the throne’s astral projection powers and is even able to move his attention anywhere in the Never lands as though simply stepping between two rooms. During this time he also discovers both a new power of the throne that makes him burn with malicious anticipation. Hook has discovered the throne can cause the tower to project a powerful beam of energy capable of striking anywhere in the Never Lands. He discovered it accidentally by disintegrating a seagull while trying to refocus himself. 

Seeking to relax from his practice on the throne he decides to return to the tree room. He touches a periwinkle leaf. Snow and ice spans out in all directions. Mountains of intertwined stone and ice jut out from the landscape's frozen surface. The sounds of thundering heavy stomping and battle cries reverberate all around. This is a world at war. Hook explores the chaos going around him. Camouflaged white Cannons guard underground bases. Giant, four-legged machines tramping through the arctic tundra like camels. Their heads swivel back and forth searching for enemies; fanged with unknown energy weapons. Hook enters caves filled with icy stalagmites, and across vast plains of blank white horizon. He lets go of the leaf as his body begins to shiver violently from the cold. Hook’s vision refocuses to find Smee crouching down next him beneath the leaves.

“Would you like to see your ship Captain?” asks Smee pulling Hook up to his feet.

*****

Hook steps into sunlit sea spray for the first time in weeks. Glare off the ocean sears his unaccustomed eyes. He puts up his bad hand to shade his eyes making his stale joints creak. He feels as if unseen tethers stretch anchor him to the tower’s power as he walks away from it. His nerves ache with the urge to return. Sunlight and fresh air find the few caress his exposed skin invigorating the still human parts of his body.

“Here she is Captain. I’ve rechristened her ‘The White Witch’. In honor of the old boogie plaguing the crew.” Hook laughs and Smee smirks.

The holes in the hull had been patched by a dull gray substance that not only filled the holes but also seems to have seeped into the nearby seams of the surrounding wood. 

“The stuff I used for the patching up was labeled ‘The essence of structure.’ I wedged a square of it into a gap and as I went to grab another glob of the stuff it went and filled in the hole all on its own!” explains Smee rather amused. 

“Very nice Mr. Smee, please continue.” Smee’s proud smile fades slightly. 

“Follow me aboard then sir. Notice anything different with the sails?”

Hook scrutinizes the canvas, “Well for one it seems a bit stiffer, and to my eyes it reflects the light a bit like polished leather.” responds Hook examining the sails with his discerning gaze.

“The material was called ‘Poly-Glass Weave’. It was described as being incredibly primitive but it is entirely waterproof, sturdy and yet still quite supple. It won’t stop grapeshot but should withstand any squalls.”

Smee directs Hook towards the seaward railing. Hook’s eyes become silver platters. They walk up the aft stairs to a cylindrical contraption molded to the railing with the same dull, gray material that was used to repair the hull. Hook eyes the mysterious mounted contraption excitedly.

“Say howdy do to your new cannons.” muses Smee gesturing for Hook to give it a try.”

“Have you gone potty Mr. Smee? What manner of shot can this fire? It’s as thin as our late Mr. Mason’s porridge.” retorts Hook.

The gun freely swivels on a sleek silver mount. Its barrel is three feet long with two handles that curve down on the operator’s side coming up parallel six inches apart at chest height. At the top of the left handle is a trigger. 

“Give her a go, Captain. I floated some targets out aways on the water.” 

Bobbing on some nearby waves are several jumbles of scrap wood and broken barrels lashed together with kelp. Hook grasps one handle with his bad hand, his finger poised above the trigger. His good hand digs into the handle for stability. He aims at a target and presses the trigger. Fire growls from the cannon in a tight stream. It swallows the target in a roaring flame. Hook releases the trigger and the flame stops.

“Dashingly good Mr. Smee. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!”

“Thank you captain and now these over here are the secondary cannons.” Smee guides Hook as they descend into the mid-ship level where three different devices are spaced evenly along both the Port and Starboard walls of the ship. Each device is mounted on a silver base like the other cannon but is three times as big. The cannon is a solid metal bar with a spherical tip. Around the main shaft thick wires spiral creating an ornate cage around it. The handles are the same design as the primary cannons Hook used above deck except these handles are coated in some sort of rubber. 

“These need a minute to ready.” explains Smee stepping on a button on the weapon’s base, causing the weapon to start emitting a dull humming. After a few seconds arcs of electricity undulate down the wires and disappear into the ball at the tip. The hum intensifies and the arcs become more frequent until it sounds like an angry beehive.

“There we are Captain. Try for that far one.” Smee gestures at one of the more distant targets.

Hook takes hold of the cannon and fires. The Weapon erupts with the sound of a great thunderclap as lightning jags from the cannon hitting one of the floating targets a hundred feet away. The target explodes into nothingness. The hum goes quiet for a second then begins to build again. 

“The instructions say this gun can fire every thirty seconds, and can fire twenty times before needing a short rest for cooling” Hook smiles with satisfaction causing Smee's heart to skip a beat.

Hook doesn’t respond. Instead, he waits for the cannon to charge, aims, and fires at another target. It explodes sending flaming bits into the waves. He fires three more times before stepping away.

“Bloody good show! Good form Mr. Smee. Have the men operated these weapons?” asks Hook.

“Not yet. Upon your approval I will begin their training.” replies Smee with a respectful bow.

“Make it so. But before that bring them and yourself to the armory. I have some upgrades to bestow as well.” orders Hook.

One wall of the armory glints with specimens of every hand held weapon conceivable. The other showcases firearms from all periods of history. In the middle of the room, organized in a grid are armor stands with full suits, or pedestals with single pieces. As Smee, Black Murphy, Blickstein, and Noodler walk down the aisles of the armory the weapons go from simple, and familiar to complex and intimidating. The room expands impossibly further back growing larger as they move. Soon, there are vehicles. Huge machines with tracks and built in cannons. Eight legged robots designed after spiders with blades covering the legs. Past that, the machines get bigger and more daunting. 

Among the vehicles is a half-moon of work benches. The walls on either side are filled with tools. Hook stands in the middle of the benches fiddling with a pistol. Several items lay on the table in front of him. 

“Greeting gentlemen. Please join me.”

Smee glances around bewildered, “Captain, this isn’t what the armory was like when I was here.”

“That’s because you weren’t looking for this one but never-mind that. Noodler!”

“Sir!” Noodler steps up to the table.

Hanging the gun from his good hand Hook fits a cartridge into the chamber of a break action style pistol. He points it at Noodler. Noodler stares back unafraid. Hook swivels and shoots at a thick skinned truck with huge wheels. The shot hits and splatters acid across the front grill. The thin grid of metal sags and drips onto the bumper. The drips eat slowly into the hardened steel of the vehicle. 

Hook presents the pistol to Noodler, “For you Mr. Noodler a special pistol. That round is one of many specialized rounds that you can utilize with this weapon. There will be times however that call for a more personal touch so I also want you to take that weapon there.” He gestures to a wood handled seax. Noodler takes both of the weapons in his backwards hands and turns them over feeling their weight and balance.

“Black Murphy.” the giant man steps up silently.

“You’ll find this fits you perfectly,” Hook taps a plate mail combat-suit. 

“Rest assured I am not playing favorites. Yours may seem primitive but I assure you that metal is nothing you’ve ever seen before. It will bend your enemy’s blades and deflect heavy-shot yet weighs the same as a dinner fork.” Black Murphy slips on the armor and nods in approval. 

“To match your new ensemble I’ve also found you this.” Hook presents him a magnificent four foot scimitar of the same metal, the blade’s polished surface reflects the man’s white-toothed grin. The sword whistles as he twirls it through imaginary bodies. 

“Blickstein.”

“Aye Sir” replies Blickstein stepping forward.

“You are a man who has an amazing eye for precision and detail and do not think it has gone unnoticed. That is why I present you with this rifle. Its range and its power are immense and I know in your hands its potential will be even greater.” Hook smiles at Blickstein warmly and hands him the rifle. 

“Thank you Captain.”

“Last but not least Mr. Smee. Now it is also a new blade made of the same God-like metal as Black Murphy’s but do not be sad. I assure you yours is special in its own ways. First I took the liberty of choosing a traditional cutlass in honor of your heritage. Second, the button on the handle will make the blade turn red with heat for some extra fun.” 

He presents the blade to Smee who slides it from its scabbard, inspecting the angle of the edge, the straightness of the blade, and the indexing of the handle. 

“Perfection sir. Obviously crafted by a master.”

“Crafted with Love” whispers Hook into Smee’s mind, grateful for the fact that his training with the tower has gifted him with at least a basic form of telepathy. Hook raises his good hand and begins to pace. 

“Listen up men. I am ready, the ship is ready, and now all of you are ready. The time has come for us to enter the next phase of my plan.”

“What’s that Cap’n?” Noodler flips his dagger between his hands. 

“We return to Blackfrost Port. We establish dominance. We claim the Neverlands as our own and prepare for the greatest battle of all time.”


	16. Back from the Dead

**Back from the Dead** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., Blackfrost Port, South-Western Province, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

Mead spills over the edge of wooden mugs. Sultry wenches giggle on the laps of drunken men. Roasted meat, glazed exotic fruits, and grilled vegetables lay in heaps on long platters. Two fiddlers play merry jingles in the corner. One man balances a full cup of ale on his forehead as another man grabs the lip of the cup with his teeth and chugs it empty without using his hands. There is a great cheer from their comrades which grow ever louder when their Captain Adolphus Fritz joins in. 

“A toast gents!” declares Old Pavy; Captain Fritz’s first-mate as he raises his glass.

“I’ll admit, I was a bit worried after the council meeting when we woke up and found our ship had been nicked. But our top-notch captain had us back on the waves doin’ what we do best before we got bored of the land and whores.” continues Old Pavy. Fists pound on tables in agreement.

“Ha ha ha!...Damn right!...Not before they got bored of you!” chimes in a random voice from the peanut gallery. Pavy closes one eye keeping the open one on the jokester, pointing a playful finger at him. 

“Raise your glasses you scurvy rats, to the new Pirate Lord of the Neverlands our very own Captain Adolphus Fritz!”

“Yeeeaaaahh!” cheers the whole drunken lot. Twenty cups go up extend towards the sky in celebration. They all come down empty. A barmaid arrives with two full pitchers. She moves around the table refilling. When she gets to Captain Fritz a lace covered hand stops her from pouring. Mistress Thorn takes the pitcher from her.

“Allow me to serve the captain. Run along and get another pitcher ready.” insists Mistress Thorn. 

Dark curls spill over her shoulder when she leans to fill the cup. The men at the table subconsciously lower their voices. Captain Fritz keeps one hand on his cup to steady it but leans his shoulders back to look more directly at the Mistress.

“Wasn’t sure if you were ever coming down from your tower. You are quite striking tonight Miss Catherine.”

“Thank you Adolphus. I’ve heard you bought yourself a new ship. Congratulations.”

“Quite a lucky chance to get it so quickly. The ship builder had made it for the militia of the Western Isles but when I told him of my sorry circumstances he took pity and sold it to me instead.”

“And by sorry circumstance I presume you mean the tip of your sword?” counters Mistress Thorn, Captain Fritz smiles. 

“I can’t believe you would think me so brutish.”replies Captain Fritz with mock-indignation. 

“All men are brutes.” rebuts Mistress Thorn, flashing disgusted sneer that she quickly hides away, mindful of her current situation. 

“Even your precious James…” muses Captain Fritz in an effort to rub salt in her emotional wound. 

“He’s dead!” she blurts out louder than she means to, causing some of the girls to jump at her outburst. Many of the men put down their glasses to listen. Captain Fritz waves a hand at them to continue their own business. He takes Mistress Thorn’s hand gently.

“My apologies. That was insensitive of me. Please allow me to make up for my…brutish…remarks by serving you dinner on my new ship.” continues Captain Fritz. Mistress Thorn pulls her hand back and fiddles with the ring on her pinky finger in a manner that is uncharacteristically bashful.

The front door of the establishment flies open. A man pushes his way through the crowded brothel.

“I’m not sure Adolphus. I…” replies Mistress Thorn not paying attention to the man now making his way through the crowded whorehouse.

The man approaches Captain Fritz’s and bows. 

“Captain,” says the man nervously.

“What is it Bradley? Can’t you see I’m speaking with Mistress Thorn?”

“My apologies Captain, Miss Catherine but we jus’ spied a ship comin inna tha bay. We’re preddy sure it’s the Stille Jäger.” explains Bradley.

“Preposterous! Show me the ship. You’ll spend a week in the bilge if you’re wasting my time.” Captain Fritz follows Bradley out to the port followed by his fellow crewman from his table with Mistress Thorn in tow. 

The sun slants down from the West. Thick necked dock workers lift heavy boxes of tea and large rolls of silk onto wooden carts. Dead center in the bay the ship once called the Stille Jäger, now with glossy sails and a half metal hull from its new upgrades, turns to give the shore its broadside. Captain Fritz extends his spyglass and looks toward the helm.

“Dear lord!” His jaw drops, as does the spyglass, “It can’t be.” whispers Captain Fritz horrified. A seed of dread suddenly takes root deep inside him.

“What is it Captain?” asks Bradley even more nervously now.

Before Fritz can answer two bolts of lightning surge from The White Witch’s cannons hitting stacks of spice crates, and a tethered goat setting them ablaze. The dual-thunderclaps slam into their ears of the on-lookers making their hearts stutter. They all watch with uneasy anticipation as the ship turns toward them again, continuing toward an open dock.

Bradley talks out of the side of his mouth, unable to take his eyes from the ship, “It’s da Jager elright, ba what ‘as ‘appened to her Captain?” The smell of roasted spices and goat meat fills the air from the burning flames on the cargo dock. Captain Fritz’s hands and feet grew cold as his stomach twists. Mistress Thorn’s heart beats with a flushing mixture of fear and a secret hope. 

Nobody on the shore of the bay dares move even as the ship comes to a stop and Black Murphy slides the gangplank of the now docked White Witch into place. Captain Hook descends in splendor and glory down onto the dock first followed by Smee and then Black Murphy. Noodler stands at the bow of the ship ready and waiting with a Fire-Cannon aimed toward the assembled group of rival pirates on the shore. Blickstein holds his potion high in the Crow’s Nest of the White Witch, his sniper-rifle at the ready. Hook strides towards Captain Fritz’s group looking more chipper than ever, whistling a joyous tune. He is garbed in black silk pants and a deep blue long-coat. The clothes were sleek and well-fitting but has none of the frills or shiny buttons the current fashion provides. 

Every pirate and citizen on the shore stands transfixed watching his approach in bewildered disbelief. A soft whimper of fear briefly escapes Captain Fritz’s mouth. Captain Hook makes his way over to Captain Fritz and Mistress Thorn as they find themselves unable to look away from the black tendrils of carapace covering his lower right arm and good hand.

Hook comes to a stop staring at Captain Fritz and Mistress Thorn from a few paces away, he turns scanning the surrounding crowd with his signature glacial-blue gaze, smiling warmly. 

“Hello old friends! I’ve always wondered what the world would be like without Captain James Hook.” He takes a few more stops towards Captain Fritz. Hook winks coolly at his beloved Mistress Thorn causing her heart to spring into euphoric glee. Hook plants himself firmly face to face with Captain Fritz. Bradley quivers in terror just off to the right of Fritz. Hook leans in close to Bradley.

“How did you find it? Was the world a bleak and dreary place without me?” whispers Hook a bitter anger in his voice. Bradley whimpers. 

“Perhaps the world was brighter? More pleasant?” shouts Hook turning for a moment to address the larger crowd. Hook turns his attention to Captain Fritz with a smug grin.

“I am sure it must have been brighter for you most of all. No longer living in my shadow, hmm?” Hook’s eyes lock with Fritz. The sheer force of Hook’s dominance causes Fritz’s eyes to waiver in shame, revealing the true weak patheticness that lies within him. 

“What of the Pan? Has he decided to torment you now that I was out of the picture?” presses Hook, his breath hot on Captain Fritz’s face.

Captain Fritz swallows. 

“Haven’t seen him.” answers Fritz his trembling becoming ever more obvious.

“What? You mean to say that Pan has been absent this whole time? He hasn’t brought his childish malevolence to bear on any other sea dog?” continues Hook, his soft voice becoming ever more menacing by the moment.

“Word is he celebrates night and day in his little clubhouse. Or with the squaws in their camp.” answers Fritz barely managing to keep some measure of composure. Captain Hook looks down and smiles.

“No, he wouldn't, would he?” mutters Hook to himself. Hook lifts his good hand in challenge as he turns to address the surrounding crowd of onlookers. 

“Who here can find the Pan?” shouts Hook.

A young girl who does the laundry for the brothel steps up to the side of Mistress Thorn. 

“I know where he is. Sometimes the Lost Boys let me join their games if they need a princess to save.” says the young girl.

“Very well little girl, what’s your name?” says Hook turning and kneeling down to face the young girl. 

“Abigail.” answers the young girl softly. Hook puts his hand on the girl’s shoulder supportively.

“Such a sweet girl. Okay Abigail, I want you to deliver a message for me. You find Pan and tell him this… tell him that Captain Hook is back and that soon all the Neverlands will be his. Tell him I will not stop until all that he loves is burned to the ground and his heart is roasted and placed before me on a silver platter.” Hook smiles at Abigail tenderly before standing back up and sending her own her way.

*******

Under Hook’s decisive leadership and with the aid of the Pale Tower Hook and his followers are able to work faster and more efficiently than ever. The mass industrialization of the Pirate Ports and surrounding lands that Hook had originally thought would take six months at least have instead only taken three. With the new level of industrial capability Hook orders Smee to oversee the complete refitting and upgrading of all pirate ships in the Neverlands along with the rearming and training of every pirate. Everyday Hook grows more proud of everything he and his man have managed to accomplish, making him even more sure of his path going forward.


	17. A Last Chance

**A Last Chance:**

**( 1911 A.D., The Pale Tower, Old Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

The stroll with Cheshire left Alice with many strange thoughts and uneasy feelings. She decided it best not to dwell at the moment and instead to try and calm herself. She lays back down on the bed and lets herself drift away from worry and concern. After a few hours she wakes to find a bowl of warm spiced soup placed neatly on the nearby table. The spiced soup smells and tastes exactly how her mom used to make at home whenever she was sick, she nearly cries. She notices her hatchet has been cleaned to a perfect polished shine and then placed on a smaller table next to her bed. It’s blade reflects the dazzling light of the luminous crystal walls. 

After finishing her soup she makes her way over to the door. Listening intently she eases the door open and steps onto the landing. As a test she descends down the stairs towards the main foyer of the tower casually waiting for alarm bells, or for Cheshire to step-out from a hidden doorway and stop her. There is only one landing before she reaches the foyer and finds the eerily familiar door she entered through yesterday. It opens at her touch. She is free.

She descends the few stone steps to the grass carefully as bare-feet meet the soft wet evening-dew. She gets about ten feet from the tower when she remembers the hatchet. She scolds herself for being so stupid. I left it in the room and I was just looking at it. She hesitates unsure about what to do. She whips her head back and forth between the forest that nearly killed her and the white tower that fills her with hope tainted by fearful uncertainty. She breathes deep, searching herself and then makes a decision. 

Within moments she is back up the stairs but not back to her room. She ascends higher, shouting and banging on closed doors as she goes.

“Hey! Hello? Cheshire! Elf lady? Where are you? Come out! Hey!” screams Alice as she climbs ever higher. The woman appears descending regally down the stairs toward Alice smiling warmly.

“Hello Alice.” responds Ishrakie. Alice stares her down, violent rage burning in her eyes. Somehow her hatchet finds it’s way from her room to her hand. Ishrakie breathes deep and nods her head understandingly. 

“How do you know my name?” growls Alice through gritted teeth, stepping towards the older woman menacingly. 

“What do you mean how?” replies Ishrakie, still smiling. She continues to look upon Alice lovingly as she stands resolute, unafraid of the advancing girl. She can feel Alice’s rage but more importantly she can feel Alice’s fear. 

“I mean you did not just hear it from Cheshire or something. You knew my name, you knew me before I ever even came to Wonderland didn’t you? Did you do this to me? Did you bring me here?” Alice shouts closing in closer on her target.

“Alice… Alice please. I know you are scared. I know you are angry. There is a storm raging inside you and it terrifies you. I know your longing and I know your fear as I know all my father’s children.” continues Ishrakie coolly.

“Enough! Answer my questions.” demands Alice pointing the Hatchet at Ishrakie threateningly. 

“I will, but one question at a time or you will just be more confused. As hard as it is for you right now, I need you to calm yourself and let me explain.” replies Ishrakie arms open wide. Exposing herself to whatever her would-be assailant feels she needs to do.

“Let’s start with your first question. Yes I knew you. I knew you before you were born. I have watched you grow, felt your joys and endured your sadness. I felt the warmth you felt when your mother would sing to you, the joy you felt when your sister was born. I was there with you when your father died. You could not feel me but I held you as you cried. Your tears became my tears and your smiles made me smile.” 

“Shut-up! Liar! Witch!” Alice buries the hatchet into Ishrakie’s chest. The blade sinks in deep. Ishrakie wraps her arms around her young attacker, pulling her into a tender loving embrace. Pinkish-pale plasmatic vapor bleeds upwards from Ishrakie’s wound. Ishrakie stokes Alice's hair gently. Ishrakie places a soft kiss snugly into the nook of Alice’s neck as the young girl drives the blade even deeper, blinded by her own fury. The wounded woman collapses backwards onto the steps pulling Alice on top of her refusing to let go. 

“It’s okay Alice, It’s okay. I love you.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” screams Alice into Ishrakie’s bosom, pushing the blade as hard as she can further into the women beneath her. Hot tears wet Ishrakie’s breasts as Alice’s raging screams give way to heavy sobs. The hatchet falls from Alice’s hands and tumbles down the stairs. The young girl falls limp, sinking deeper into Ishrakie’s embrace as her heart crumbles in the pale witch's arms. 

“It’s okay. Let it out, let it all out. All the shame and all the hurt, let it out. You are not a monster. You have had to kill to survive and you made it through, you made it here. What you have done to survive does not define you. You’re a good person with a good heart. You are still worthy of love, you are loved. You are loved more than you will ever know.” whispers Ishrakie as more uncontrollable sobs continue to ravage the young girl in her arms. The moments pass and the tears fall until at last Alice lifts her gaze to Ishrakie’s. 

“I hate this! I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me. I Just wanna go home. I want nothing more to do with this world. I want my mom. I want my sister. Show me how to get home, please. Please just let me go home.” Alice pleads through bitter tears and heavy breaths as she clings desperately to the wounded goddess.

Alice relaxes and her breath steadies as Ishrakie somehow channels the lullaby her mother would sing to her in times of terror and unease. Ishrakie’s rendition was not a perfect match for her mother’s but strangely Alice finds it just as beautiful and just as soothing. The pale witch continues to sing the lullaby until the girl in her arms is completely relaxed. 

“Now come. I think it’s time you had those answers you wanted.” muses Ishrakie as she softly shifts Alice off of her and stands up before reaching down and helping Alice to her feet. They make their way back to the room of chandeliers.

“You are correct Alice in one of the guesses you have already made. I did bring you her but before you judge me I need you to let me explain. Cheshire already showed you this room did he not?” asks Ishrakie gesturing to the room in which they currently stand.

“Yes he did and he told me its function in at least a basic sense.” replies Alice stepping up to Ishrakie’s side.

“This room is special. It is not the source of my power or what gives me my connection to all of my father’s creation however it does amplify both these things and thus allows me to do my work with far greater efficiency.” explains Ishrakie to the young girl beside her.

“And what exactly is your work? Cheshire and I discussed it a little but only in a limited manner”.

The tall, pale woman moves through the low hanging chandeliers. Her hands gently caress against the suspended glass shards as they sway in the phantom breezes of the room. Alice follows close behind her, the young girl notices that the deeper into the room they go the closer the chandeliers get to each other. Ishrakie lightly grasps two strands that have wound together. Ishrakie gestures for Alice to pay attention.

“This is a naturally occurring problem that sometimes happens. Sometimes universes become tangled with their neighbors. Just as our hair sometimes becomes tangled as we move around. This tangling can become a problem fore these two strands represent the life-force energy that flow through these two particular universes. The problem if not mended can become catastrophic and well...” Alice watches from beside Ishrakie as the two strands of crystalline shards slowly turn a bright blue and then suddenly shatter. The broken pieces burst into flames as they clatter to the ground, burning until they are nothing but ash on the ground. Ishrakie can feel an abrupt uneasiness building inside the girl beside her.

“Do not worry, both those universes were already in their death throws and thus were devoid of any sentient life but imagine if those had been young healthy universes vibrant with life. What would have happened to all the living things in those universes?”

“They would have died” replies Alice softly.

“Indeed. Luckily a single tangle in a celestial thread can be fixed easy enough however…” Ishrakie gestures for her little student to look up towards the higher chandeliers hanging above them. Alice looks upward seeing hundreds of knots and kinks among the many other celestial strands hanging from the higher chandeliers.

“A situation like that is an entirely different matter. There are of trillions lives, trillions of souls whose fates are bound-up in those knots and kinks. The problem so far is not entirely unmanageable, observe.” continues Ishrakie as she leaps high into the air and with a flash of quick nimble movement unwinds all the tangled strands above them before landing gracefully back down. What happened was so quick and sudden that Alice is barely able to register that Ishrakie even moved at all. Though the moment of exertion was brief it leaves Ishrakie winded. 

“Are you alright?” asks Alice, placing a concerned hand on older woman. Ishrakie’s knees start to shake causing Alice to place an arm around Ishrakie in order to help support her.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” mutters Ishrakie weakly. Alice helps Ishrakie to a nearby wall and sits her down against it to rest. 

“Normally that would not take so much of my energy but here’s the catch. That number of tangles and kinks is unnatural, something is making them happen. Some ill-will, some sentient force is making them happen. What it is I do not know but it is threatening the very existence of all life in the multiverse and killing me in process.” explains the pale witch.

“The blade of your axe did not make this wound, it simply re-opened it.” continues Ishrakie as she opens the front of her bodice revealing a massive gash stretching from between the bottom of her breasts to mid-way down her abdomen. The wound is unlike any Alice has ever seen fore where there should be exposed tissue there is instead stars and nebulae and where there should be blood there is instead tiny pinkish-pale wisps of light. 

“The more my energy is drained from me, the greater this wound becomes and eventually very soon it will consume me and when I go…” Ishrakie pulls Alice in close.

“It all falls down.” Suddenly all the celestial threads on all the chandeliers in the room explode, raining down flaming crystalline debri. A deep suffocating darkness falls upon the room as all of the multiverse becomes ash on the ground. 

“NOOOOOOO” screams Alice into the vast endless dark. Loneliness closes in on her. Tears stream from her eyes as she begins feeling around in the dark frantically.

“Mother! Mother! Emilia! Sister! No! No!” she falls to her knees in despair.

“Fear not child for it is only a glimpse.” coos Ishrakie softly appearing out of darkness and embracing Alice in her arms once again. Ishrakie snaps her fingers and the lights return to their place revealing that all the chandeliers and shards there-on are still intact.

“A glimpse, a glimpse of what?” cries Alice nuzzling deep into Ishrakie’s neck for comfort. Ishrakie strokes hair soothingly.

“A glimpse of a future that will come to pass very soon if my power is not passed on to a worthy successor.”

“Me. You mean me. I can’t go home can I?” counters Alice looking deep into Ishrakie’s eyes.

“We did not lie to you? I do have enough strength left in me to get you home and I will if you wish it but there is not much time left in the multiverse and so I need you to understand that there is no one else. For me, for this place for everyone this is it. You can go home and enjoy what little fleeting time is left in the multiverse with your kind and loving family but sooner rather than later I will die and then so will they and so will you. I know it is not fair and if there was any other way I would take it but there isn’t.” explains Ishrakie her tone heavy with a mixture of despair and disgust at the cruelty of the horrible choice she is forced to offer the young girl in her arms. Alice shakes her head as dreadful uncertainty fills her. She flees towards the door leading back to the stairs. Ishrakie rushes after her as they both begin moving swiftly back down the stairs.

“Alice please… please wait, I know it is a terrible thing to ask but I have no choice, you know I don’t. Alice please…” Ishrakie feels her strength begin to fade once again as her vision and mind go black. The pale witch collapses, tumbling down the stairs. She tumbles passed Alice, finally stopping with a loud hard thud/ Her body lies unmoving, sprawled-out on the flat surface of the next landing. Alice rushes to Ishrakie’s side uncertain of how to help her. 

“Cheshire! Help! Cheshire!” screams Alice frantically. 

“What happened?” demands Cheshire as he rushes towards them from the door of the next landing down.

“We were coming down the stairs. She suddenly collapsed and tumbled down.” explains Alice as Cheshire scoops Ishrakie's limp body up into his arms. Cheshire slams the ground hard with his right heel causing reality and the tower around them to shift. Alice finds that they are now standing in a grand ornate bedroom of magnificent splendor. Cheshire places Ishrakie softly down onto the bed. Cheshire kneels beside the bed, taking Ishrakie’s hand gently in his. The young girl walks slowly over and places a supportive hand on Cheshire’s shoulder. He turns and stares at her for a moment but then turns quickly back to Ishrakie. Though he only looked at Alice for a moment she could see the overwhelming worry and fear in his eyes.

“How long does she have?” asks Alice meekly.

“Not long. Time in Wonderland is very wibbly wobbly but if I were to put it in terms you would understand I would say two maybe three months tops.” explains Cheshire, stroking Ishrakie’s cheek.

“I told her there was not enough time but she didn’t listen. No, she believed in you, bet it all on you. Now here we are.” continues Cheshire in a tone of subtle anger.

“What do you mean?” responds Alice.

“I mean there is no time left. We can’t get someone else anymore.” barks Cheshire turning on Alice.

“That’s what she said.” mutters Alice looking down at her feet as sea-monsters of uncertainty wage war in her brain.

“Look you should just go. I’ll use the tower to send you home. Just go spend whatever brief time is left with your family so I can tend to mine.” presses Cheshire grabbing Alice roughly by the hand and leading her towards the door. 

“Wa… wait. Le...let he… her go. Che… Cheshire.” Cheshire looks back at Ishrakie, loosening his grip on the young girl. Alice rushes over to Ishrakie’s side Cheshire in tow. Alice grabs Ishrakie’s hand gently. Alice looks down at the weak and terminal goddess lying before her and suddenly it all becomes so clear. She could go home and be with your loving family in her warm like she has dreamed of for so long. But could she really live with herself knowing she had doomed all of existence to do it? Could she really look her sister and her mother in eye knowing that by returning to them she was also dooming them to a horrible fate? Is that love? No, she knows it is only selfishness using love as a mask. She knows what she has to do, she knows what the right path is and she knows she must walk it.

“I kn… know it isn’t f... fair.” continues Ishrakie to Alice weakly.

“It’s okay. I’ll do it. I’ll stay. I’m yours” replies Alice smiling tenderly as she runs her hands lovingly through Ishrakie’s hair. 

“Tha.. thank yo... you.” responds Ishrakie her voice so weak it is barely audible. Alice holds Ishrakie's hand as she drifts back off to sleep.

“We should leave, let her rest.” chimes in Cheshire gesturing for Alice to follow. Alice walks over and joins him as they both proceed out of the room shutting the door behind them.


	18. Shattered

**Shattered** **:**

**( 1913 A.D., The Kinder Beschützer Institute, Pocket Dimension located somewhere off the western coast of England )**

The first night at the institute Watson and Mrs. Darling sat up all night with the children since they all refused to leave Tootles’s medical bed until they were all sure he was through the worst of it and would be okay. Slightly as leader of the lost boys seemed the most affected at the current state of his injured comrade. John held his hand the whole night as they sat in vigil. The warmth John felt holding Slightly’s hand soothed him so his gesture was not entirely selfless however it also planted a subtle seed of inner shame somewhere deep inside him. A place he dare not look and had over years become very adept at ignoring. The extra night-time company in the med-bay annoyed Oksana greatly so she retired to the library to finish her nightly paper-work there. Vincent, Mr. Darling and Sherlock spent their night in the parlor with a pool-table and fine scotch for company. Agent Joan and Agent Mulan retired to their room early after dinner for some much-deserved private time. Despite all the chaos that happened earlier in the day their first night at their new home away from home was uncommonly peaceful, even pleasant all things considered. 

******

John stealthily opens a bedroom door and peeks inside. After two days at the Institute he has finally been able to relax and play with the other boys again. From his position at the door he can see the foot of a bed, a dresser and a window against the far wall. The window has wall length curtains which are not completely closed. Observant as ever he spots it, the bare feet poking out from beneath both sides of the curtains. The Twins. He grins and skulks into the room with exaggerated tip-toe steps. 

Floorboards creak despite his light steps causing the toes behind the curtains to curl. _Too little too late boyos_ he thinks triumphantly. He flings open both curtains and clamps a hand over each of the Twins’s mouths. Shushing their surprised squeals he motions for them to follow. They follow the standard protocol demanding that the ones who are caught follow silently behind the seeker as he continues his hunt, trying to step exactly where he steps, and move exactly like he moves. Feeling a desire to engage in some level one silliness, John looks back over his shoulder and grins at the Twins following him before wiggling out the door back to the hallway with his arms above his head like wacky inflatable arms in the wind. The Twins copy the movement as they all proceed through the hall stifling their giggles before continuing the search. 

Vincent rounds the corner ahead of them accompanied by an unknown boy walking beside him. Or was it a very short man? John straightens his glasses and gestures for the other boys to stop their movement and their laughter. The unknown boy has shoulder length silver hair pulled back into a ponytail. He is dressed in an immaculate white tailored suit with a shiny sapphire-blue necktie. The boy’s round-lens eyeglasses are tinted the same blue as his tie. Vincent is speaking excitedly with the boy as they proceed down the hallway going the opposite direction as John and the Twins. John tries to catch some of what they are saying but all he gets is something about an Ishakuh finally betting a viral sub-sector whatever that means. Just as Vincent is about to pass John and the Twins he stops, suddenly taking note of their presence.

“Oh hello boys. Please allow me to introduce our Grand Minister Lord Nenious.” proclaims Vincent smiling gleefully as always as he gestures to the boy beside him.

“Oh my gosh! You are a boy like us!” proclaims the Twins excitedly as they start to dance from foot to foot ogling Nenious as he small stands erect before them like a drill sergeant.

“Not quite.” Lord Nenious replies in a very soft yet strangely authoritative voice. 

“So tell us mister, are you gonna be our new Pan?” continue the Twins still dancing.

“Aww yeah, and we can go battle the axe guy. He can be our new Hook except we’ll call him Axe…” continue the Twins growing more excited by the moment.

“Or The Chopper!”

“Oh man, that is a big job. I am flattered you would even consider me. Unfortunately I have other pressing matters boys...” he leans in towards John and the Twins confidentially. 

“Boring adult stuff like meetings with guardians of alternate dimensions and other such terrible dribble.” whispers Nenious with a cool smile and a wink. Before they can respond he walks past them and when they turn to say something to him Lord Nenious is gone. Vincent dismisses himself politely and proceeds along his own errands. 

The boys find Michael next. They find him hiding under a pile of decorative pillows in one of the larger staterooms. The spot would have been clever, had a brief moment of audible flatulence not given away his position. Their group having grown to a group of four makes its way back into the hall. John pauses for a moment to ponder other potential hiding spots that they should check. They are almost at the end of the East wing. There is one more bedroom, a library-sitting room, the laundry-sewing room, and Vincent’s room. John could hear the soft mellow sound of Vincent’s piano playing coming from his room so obviously none of John’s prey would be hiding in there. He decides it best to check the laundry room next. 

Slanting rays of mid-morning sun shine in ahead of them through a large square window at the end of the hall. Suddenly there is a great sound of thunder outside, the world shakes and the window explodes inward. The shock-wave lifts the boys into air and sends them flying backwards several feet. Streaking shards of broken glass spray the whole hallway. A shard hits one of the Twins lodging deep into his head between his right cheekbone and temple. The institute lights go out. John’s ears fill with a deafening ring so loud he cannot focus. A thick haze of dust and fragmented debri fills the hall and clouds his vision. He can just barely make out the left side of one of the Twins through the dust. He suddenly feels the familiar cold-aura of Vincent closing in on him. John looks around finding Vincent kneeling next to him. Vincent’s mouth is moving but John can’t hear what he is saying. Icy hands pull him to his feet, wandering towards them through the haze he can his younger brother Michael approaching them.

Where the window was at the end of the hall is now a ragged blown-out hole. The light which had been gentle before now sears the boys’ already blurry vision. Dorian Gray strides through the shattered window holding something in his hands. He brings his hands together and there is a small flicker. When they part a small flame dangles below a circular device. John isn’t sure what it is.

“Boys! Get up! This way!” demands Vincent picking up the dazed John in one arm and Michael with the other.

“Ahh, you don’t want to stay and have a bit a’ fun?” inquires Dorian sarcastically.

The gentleman tosses the hand-held explosive towards them. Vincent turns and stares at the incoming device intensely for a moment summoning forth a thick barrier of ice blocking the incoming grenade. After summoning the barrier he quickly turns and continues the retreat, holding both boys close to his chest. The device hits the barrier and explodes, blowing the remaining hallway doors off their hinges and scorching the hallway walls. As John’s hearing returns his ears are bombarded by a cacophony of screams and agony coming from the main hall. There is the deafening roar of another nearby explosion.

Through blurred vision John can see his brother Michael. Michael pukes over Vincent's shoulder as he carries them with great haste. John looks behind them over Vincent's shoulder to get a better look at their pursuer. He watches in horror as Institute Soldiers hack and slash into the man but instead of drawing forth blood and pain their attacks draw only plumes of ash and maniacal laughter from their opponent. John screams as Dorian places a grenade in his own mouth and ignites it, completely turning his own entire upper body in a dark black cloud of ash and killing all the soldiers around him at the same time. Did he just kill himself, John wonders to himself. The answer comes in mere moments as the ash-cloud immediately re-condenses back into the form of man as if no damage had been done. 

“Well, I must say, these new toys are scintillating. Are you sure you don’t want to play? I have a couple other tricks you might like to see.” muses Dorian loudly to Vincent as he continues his slow steady pursuit of them.

John hears the rumble of boots coming toward them. Guards sprint past them towards the ever laughing Dorian. More sounds of explosions and death-screams erupt behind them as Vincent continues to run desperate to keep them ahead of the carnage. 

Smoke and dust burn John’s eyes more and more with each passing moment. His glasses are lost, left behind with the broken and battered bodies of the Twins. They pass by bloodied hallways littered with the bodies of mutilated fallen soldiers interspersed by the occasional maimed and groaning but still alive ones. Medics move hurriedly all around them trying to save the ones they can. Vincent dares not stop the risk is still too great. The boys are his only priority right now. Guards pour out from nearby stairwells. Some shoot foam onto scattered fires here and there while others take up defensive positions at key-intersections. Vincent finally comes to a stop by a group of them.

“Any breach from below?” Vincent asks firmly.

“No sir.” responds a nearby squad leader. Vincent hands Micheal over to the squad leader and sets down John for a moment. 

“Good. Take these boys down to R and D and dig in. I’ll be down with-”

“No!” interrupts John in a stern loud voice.

The men turn to look at John. He is afraid, but he pulls his slim shoulders back in defiance as best he can.

“I’m coming with you. Wendy and my parents may need me. I am not going to hide like a coward. I’m going to find them.” presses John clearly not backing-down.

John expects Michael to copy him as was his normal custom during just about any activity. But this time he didn’t. Michael just stares at the floor whimpering instead.

Vincent, having never been a father, sees something he has never seen in all his years. He sees a boy grow up right before his very eyes. Now he understands why his adversaries want these children dead. Vincent gestures to the squad leader who hands John a rapier.

“Alright then, take Michael down. John will come with me. We will meet you in R and D as soon as we can.” declares Vincent and within moments he and John are on their way to look for the others.

The West wing itself is not as structurally damaged as the East wing but the amount of gore is staggering. Inside the first hall they pass about a dozen or so bodies left sprawled-out and hacked to pieces, decapitated heads with slit-mouthed smiles and severed limbs litter the floor in a bloody mess. John tries not to look directly at the bodies. He retches at one point but holds it in. 

Nearly all the rooms they pass are open and battle scarred except for the med-bay which has a heavy airtight security door. Vincent bangs on the heavy door shouting his identity to anyone seeking refuge inside. A woman’s voice answers in a Russian accent.

“Oh my god Vincent! Is it over? Are they gone?” asks Oksana.

“There is still fighting in other parts of the facility but this section is currently calm but the frightening could move back this way at any moment.” replies Vincent. Oksana unlocks and opens the med-bay security door. She looks bruised and beaten, blood covers her hands and a weeping gash marks the upper left-side of her head.

“Then let’s hurry. We have to move her now before it’s too late.” continues Oksana grimly. Confused, Vincent rushes into the med-bay. John leans in to look and sees the doctor gesticulating next to a table on wheels. As Vincent moves to the other side of the gurney. 

“Keep pressure on the wound, we’re moving her downstairs to surgery.” demands Oksana to Vincent. Vincent obeys in strict accordance with her words. From the current distance and angle John cannot make-out the body on the table.

In seconds they are back out in the hall. Vincent shouts for John to stay close and keep up. John does his best to keep up as they struggle around the dead guards in the hall. As they round a corner of the hall Vincent slips and when he does John finally is able to see who is lying on the table. His breathing fails him and his mind stutters fore on the table lies the bloodied unconscious body of his sister, a huge crescent wound in her skull. Vincent does his best to keep pressure on the wound.

“Wendy, Wendy!” cries John, trying to grab her arm.

“Stay back John,” Vincent commands. 

Oksana’s simian face strains with panic. Her tail arcs up from under her coat and presses the button for the elevator over and over again. 

“I tried to stop him Vincent, I really did. We ran but he was so fast. I’m sorry, so very sorry. Fuck… where is the damned elevator?” Oksana’s voice is a boiling brew of failure, regret and desperation.

“It’s not coming. Advanced Security Measures must have been tripped when they cut the primary power.” responds Vincent.

“The terminals and elevators throughout the facility are pre-hooked into the back-up generator automatically upon disruption of the main generator right? ” inquires Oksana.

“That’s the set-up. This elevator must be malfunctioning.” responds Vincent. 

“Shit, I am gonna need a minute.” declares Oksana as he busts open the elevator terminal panel and sets to work on fixing it. She works fast through moments of intense stares and muttered cursing until at last she obtains success. The elevator panel flashes Red then Blue then Green and the elevator door slides open. A group of guards round the corner at the end of the hall to right coming towards them.

“Mr. Grinko!” yells Vincent to the lead guard. The guards hurry over even faster in response. 

“Oksana is going to need your help downstairs in surgery, she will require both of us to assist her in order to save this girl and I want the rest of your men to escort John down to R and D, they are expecting him” Orders Vincent.

“But, Wendy...I have to…” as he stares transfixed at his sisters blood on his hands. 

“I’m sorry John but the doctor is going to need complete focus if your sister is going to survive now I need you to go with them please?” pleads Vincent. John nods in surrender and joins the rest of the soldiers as they begin escorting him down to R and D. Vincent steps into the elevator and the doors close behind him. 

As John and his escort party reach the Main Hall they run into Watson and Slightly coming from the rubble of the East Wing in search of the other Lost Boys. Watson and Slightly join John’s escort party. They pass through more shattered doors and ravaged hallways. John is informed that they are finally approaching the elevator that will take them to R and D, to safety but as they round the final corner he is brought face to face with his own world’s end fore just ahead of them stands the Woodsman holding the limp lifeless body of his mother up by the neck and laying on the ground just off to the right of the Woodsman is the dismembered body of his father. A violent scream of rage and grief erupts from John as he collapses to his knees. 

“Take him down” shouts Watson as he and all the rest of soldiers in their party open fire on the Woodsman shredding into nothing but a cloud of blood-red mist. With the Woodsman John rushes over the dead bodies, his screams of rage now cries of agony and torment. His parent’s blood stains his clothing a deep crimson. Watson picks up John and Slightly and gestures for the other to pick up the bodies of the fallen parents then they all proceed into the elevator. Watson sets the boys down in the elevator and presses the button for the R and D floor. Slightly drags John to the back of the elevator and pulls him into a deep tender embrace. 

Not long after reaching R and D. An announcement of All-Clear echoes throughout the institute as Institute Engineers are finally able to get power back up and running for most systems and are able to confirm the enemies retreat from each of the defense stations. External and Internal sensor readings confirm the report of All-Clear. With the enemy gone it becomes time for Clean-Up and Recovery as Assessment Teams and Repair Crews are dispersed throughout the institute. Clean-Up Teams are sent out to collect and inventory the dead.

******

Over the next few days the full extent of the loss of life and damage from the attack becomes clear. With around 150 soldiers dead but most of the damage to the Institute while wide-spread is revealed to be quite minimal in severity but for two young boys the damage cannot be calculated in such terms, for two young boys the world they knew ended with the attack and true recovery may never be possible. You can calculate the cost of repairs and you calculate the time it will take to train new soldiers but how do you calculate the value of a dead father, a dead mother or a fallen sister.


	19. The New Childminder

**The New Childminder** **:**

**( 1925 A.D., The Township of Resdren, Nornland, Scotland, Greater Germania )**

The sky is dull and overcast the day John first arrives at the Draig Family Estate. He had just endured an agonizingly long train ride from his previous post in London to the dreary Township of Resdren. Upon exiting the train John cannot help but notice the dark and gloomy atmosphere of this place that is to be his new local community. The ground is soggy from days of heavy rain and most of the people at the train station are so pale they look as if they have not seen the sun in years or were all perhaps ill. Looking around it strikes John as very odd that the people should seem so gleeful in their bustling about when the place where they live seems so dreadful. _Perhaps I am being too quick to judge_ he thinks to himself.

John makes his way off the platform, his luggage dragging behind him until at last John makes it out of the train station where he is greeted by a rather queer-looking fellow with receding raggedy brown hair and long slightly crooked fingers. 

“Ello new master my name is Crowler, I am the Driag Family chauffeur. I have been sent here to retrieve you. Please allow me to be the first to say welcome to Resdren.” proclaims Crowler in a warm and welcoming tone as he begins loading John's luggage into a nearby ornate carriage. Crowler gestures for John to climb up into the carriage. Doing as he is bidded John climbs into the carriage to find it rather regal and cozy, there are some books for reading a tiny table between the two benches and the benches themselves are among the softest John has ever felt. 

John looks out the window as they make their way down Main Street. They pass several quaint little shops and pubs. John feels somewhat more at ease concerning his new surroundings as he sees more and more people laughing and going about their daily business but it was at that moment he thought he saw something, something strange but he could not be sure fore it was gone in the blink of an eye. Though he vanished so quickly John was still almost certain he had seen an abnormal looking lad in a silverish jumpsuit with glowing blue lens-like domes over his eyes standing in a narrow alleyway between one of the local toy shops and the town bakery. The ears of the strange lad looked sharpened to a point and his skin looked even paler than the sun-starved skin of the local residents. John tries to convince himself it is just a minor hallucination by long travel and exhaustion but deep down he knows he has never been that lucky.

*****

After about two more hours in the carriage John can see that they are at last approaching the front carriageway of the Draig Family Estate. John considers himself a person who has seen many sights and has traveled to some places normal men cannot even fathom and yet he still has to admit the Draig Estate fills him with at least some level of awe. After a few more minutes of bumpy travel they make it all the way up the carriageway of the estate and come to a parked position just outside the front door. John can see through the window that there is already a small welcoming committee waiting outside the front door, for the most part they all look to be wonderful people albeit some of them a bit disheveled but overall he finds his mood has already been lifted greatly.

Upon coming to a stop Crowler climbs down from his driver’s seat and makes his way over to the carriage door and opens it.

“Welcome to the Draig Family Estate new master.” proclaims Crowler to John as kindly as he can muster.

“Thanks and forget the new master stuff please, just John is fine with me.” replies John. For some reason he finds himself already liking Crowler. The man may be weird and unsorted but the man’s overall jolly demeanor has already started to grow on him.

“Aye new mast---- I mean John sir.” responds Crowler taking John by the arm and helping him down from the carriage. John brushes off the front of himself briskly just in case he has become a little untidy during his travels before stepping forward and turning his attention to the welcoming committee. It is at this point a prim and proper woman sporting an elegant green dress and a glass of red wine approaches John from behind the welcome line. Her face is covered with a bitter grimace with cold seeming lifeless eyes.

“I am Mrs. Draig and you must be John Darling, our new Childminder.” declares Mrs. Draig, barely managing to cover up her annoyance with a tone of mock pleasantry. 

“Indeed I am my lady” John replies, his voice strict with propriety.

“You got your work cut out for you with this wretched little pest, but as long as you can keep him out of my site then I don’t really care.” continues Mrs. Draig with a tone of dismissive disgusts.

“Okay?” John does his best to keep his tone level and polite, though he was sure that this woman was perhaps the worst mother just based on that statement alone that he has ever met.

“This is Emma? She is our Head-Maid. This one here is Tilda and this is her twin sister Hilda, they are our two Lesser-Maids.” continues Mrs. Draig as she gestures to the three maids standing behind her. John finds the Head-Maid Emma to be a truly stunning example of peak feminine beauty. The other two maids are both stout well-built women, who though not beautiful look to be quite capable.

“It is very nice to meet you.” chimes in Emma with a stunning smile and polite curtsy. 

“Well now that you three have been introduced Emma go check on dinner, Tilda and Hilda go set the table.” barks Mrs. Draig as if shewing away rats.

“Yes Mam.” respond the three maids in unison as they all bow and then hurry off to perform their assigned tasks.

“Ugh here comes the worthless little waste of my eggs now.” proclaims Mrs. Draig with a tone of absolute revulsion as a slender young boy with golden-blond hair approaches her and John through the doorway accompanied by a gawky sour-faced old man. 

“Hello, you must be John Darling. I am Rufus; Mrs. Draig’s Personal Attendant.” says the old man reaching out his hand to shake John’s. Not wanting to be rude John shakes his hand only to find his touch cold and clammy like a dead-fish which would actually match his smell quite well. Unlike Mrs. Draig, his eyes are not dead and lifeless but rather sunken and cruel. His eyes remind John of a particularly mean professor he had known during his training.

“Nice to meet you.” John replies though nothing could have been further from the truth.

“Now… Now, Oskar say hello to your new Childminder.” demands Rufus noticeably squeezing the young boy’s shoulder hard enough to make even John squirm just from watching. If John did not dislike Rufus before that moment then John certainly despises him now. The treatment causes the young boy to start wincing in pain as he steps forward and presents himself to John with forced faux politeness. Oskar bows low for a moment, still shaking. John was sure his shoulder was still in pain and most likely bruised from Rufus’s rough treatment. The first thing that catches John’s eye about the boy is that he is shorter and skinnier than one would expect for his age and far more feminine looking than one would consider typically possible for a boy. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you Oskar. I look forward to getting to know you very much.” John replies as he kneels down to meet Oskar at his level. John reaches out, trying to take Oskar’s hand gently in hopes of covertly providing the boy with some mild comfort but Oskar recoils at the attempt. John does not blame him. John has a feeling that the concept of kind and caring touching is a completely alien concept to Oskar, that is if Mrs. Draig’s and Rufus’s treatment of him is any indication.

"Stop that Oskar, you mustn't be so rude." demands Rufus as he strikes Oskar hard in the buttocks with his cane causing subtle tears of pain to well-up in Oskar’s eyes. The strike angers John greatly but he maintains his composure.

"Pleasure to meet you sir." replies Oskar halfheartedly reaching out his hand for John to shake. Oskar avoids John's gaze. Instead of shaking his hand John places a gentlemanly peck upon the boy’s hand. John can feel a slight shudder of fear as his lips make contact with Oskar's pale hand. Oskar, surprised at the sudden affection, finally lets his gaze meet John’s. For a brief moment a subtle smile builds-up inside the young boy, a smile he will never show.


	20. A Final Goodbye

**A Final Goodbye** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., The Pale Tower, Old Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

Alice decides that while Ishrakie is resting she will go and relax a little as well in her own personal bedroom hot-tub. She breathes in deep letting the soothing steam do its work as the bubbles massage her every muscle and crevasse. Time fades as she becomes lost in the relaxation.

*******

"You know you really should not stay in for more than an hour at a time" explains Cheshire, waking Alice from her tranquil bliss.

"First off it has not been an hour and secondly does anyone knock around here?" replies Alice sarcastically.

"You are right you have actually been in there for forty-five minutes which is yes less than an hour and as for the knocking, Why would we do that" answers Cheshire in mock confusion.

"Forget it." continues Alice climbing from the bath and toweling herself off.

"You know you did a brave thing today. You surprised me. I have spoken with Ishrakie and she has instructed me to give you something as thank you for your courage." continues Cheshire.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" replies Alice putting back on her clothes. 

"A chance for a final goodbye, if you wish it." Alice stops for a moment and then proceeds to finish getting dressed.

"Do you mean I can go see my family one last time." asks the now fully dressed Alice.

"Through meditation with me and the aid of this tower I can astral project your mind back to your home and allow you to see your family one last time." Alice thinks for a moment about the offer but only a moment.

"Let's do it" replies Alice firmly.

*******

time and worlds rush by in radiant blooms of green and blue until at last things slow back to normal and Alice's feet meet the soft gentle sensation of cool grass. She can see a familiar nearby footbridge that spans the water and points the eye to a swath of grass bent and pressed by infrequent feet. The trodden path curves around a pregnant cherry tree and into a lush garden. Wildflowers and rosemary press close to a trellis gate engulfed in morning glory. The sun inches toward the treetops. Shadows fan out from the groves. Despite all her promises to herself Alice begins to cry.  It’s my home! That’s my sister’s garden  she thinks to herself.

“Hee hee hee, well no and yes. Or more precisely it was and is.” Cheshire appears beside her once again in the form of a purple striped cat.

“Your mother and sister are already asleep. Which is actually lucky for in sleep they might be able to hear you if you speak to them" explains Cheshire as he twirls away nearby. Alice glides through the air behind him slipping ethereally through her sister's bedroom wall. 

“Where would you like to take them?” continues Cheshire popping his knuckles.

“Take them? What do you mean?” asks the young girl, confused.

“You are going to meet your sister and mother in a shared dream, might as well take the opportunity to see the Great Pyramids or Dieter Schmidt’s Bratwurst Stand. Both marvels in their own right.”

“No, just have it be here. Out in the garden” replies Alice solemnly.

“My goodness, what does she see in you? No imagination at all.” presses Cheshire, complying as instructed.

The world rotates and spasms for a moment before jerking back into position as Alice finds herself standing in the garden looking out at her mother and sister playing nearby. Mid-day heat carries the scent of thyme and lilac. Bushy flowers of all colors angle up and out like spectators in a coliseum. The garden seems a lot larger than she remembers. She proceeds forward passing a clump of sunflowers.

“Hello, mother, dear sister.” chimes Alice gleefully causing her mother and sister to turn and take notice of her.

“Oh, Alice! Emilia and I were just trying to decide who would make the best husband for her. We have got it down to either Jeremy Strongbottom, the mayor’s nephew, or Stefan Willoughby who always wears the best jackets.” replies Alice's mother playfully.

“I’ve never met these men, aren’t you interested in where I’ve been? I’ve been gone quite a while haven’t I?” counters Alice coaxingly.

“Well yes, of course, we worried but here you are now so why dawdle on such things now.” replies her mother dismissively. The tone of her mother's words makes her shrink a little. Alice pushes past this feeling and grabs her sister’s hand. Emilia smiles at her eyes wet with tears.

“There are so many things I want to say but I don’t have time for it all. I came to tell you I’m not coming home.”

“You have been gone so long. I worried about you. I’ve missed you.” cries Emilia as she rests her head softly against Alice's shoulder.

“I know, I’ve missed you too and I have had such a hard time where I’ve gone but I need to go back. I can't explain but it's important. There is something I have to do but first I need you to know just how much I love you and how much I will miss you. I know you are going to grow into an amazing woman and I am sorry I will not able to see you down the aisle like I promised I would when dad died. I need to know you forgive me, please.”

“I love you so much big sis, You always took care of me. I do not understand any of this but if you say it matters that much. Then I forgive you.”

"I am sorry but it's time to go" whispers Cheshire climbing onto her shoulder. Alice nods as Cheshire flicks his tail and the world bleeds away. The words she had left to say don't seem that important anymore. Alice awakens but she does not open her eyes trying to savor the warm love of her sister for as long as possible. Soon, the moment and the feeling begin to fade as the feelings of the tower’s heated stone on her back and the fabric of her dress against her thigh grow stronger. She lets it go but tucks away the memory for a later time. 

"You should get some sleep, tomorrow training begins." declares Cheshire before leaving Alice alone in her bedroom so that he may go and check on Ishrakie. 


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is completed but I have plenty more planned but that is only going to come if I can get some feedback from all you beautiful readers. Please leave me some feedback so I can improve what needs it and continue the things you liked.

**Epilogue** **:**

**( 1911 A.D., The Royal City of Hearts, The Land of Hearts, Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie )**

The night is horrid and wet as thunder booms from the lightning scorched sky. The Piper had promised an alliance with another leader of great power from the lands far beyond the western horizon of your kingdom but how is that possible there nothing outside Wonderland and if there was she would know about. _It’s Impossible, it’s preposterous_ she thinks to herself. The Red Queen continues to pace the length of her War-Room growing more nervous by the second until at last there comes knock. A white rabbit in a fine suit enters the room accompanied by some members of her royal guard.

“Your majesty the foreign delegation has arrived. Do you need more time or shall I show them in?” asks the rabbit in a deeply formal and refined tone. _What should I do? Perhaps the Piper lies and this is a trick. Maybe I should order this delegation beheaded right now or maybe I shouldn’t._ A war of questions and uncertainty wages in the Red Queen's mind as she ponders what to say. She paces the length of the War-Room one more time and then answers.

“Yes show them in. I am ready. I can do this.” The Red Queen takes a moment to recomposes herself in a much more dignified and authoritative manner as the rabbit goes to retrieve the delegation. After a few minutes the Red Queen can hear the approaching sounds of the delegation's heavy footsteps. The door reopens as the white rabbit renters the room once again.

“Presenting his Grand Magnificence Captain James Hook, Pirate Lord of the Neverlands and his Honored First-Mate Pirate Lord Smee.” announces the white rabbit with low bow of respect to Captain Hook and Smee. 

“Lord Hook, Lord Smee may I present her Royal Majesty the Red Queen of Hearts and Supreme Sovereign of Wonderland.” Continues the rabbit gesturing the two men’s attention towards the Red Queen. The Red Queen curtsy respectfully to the two men as they both bless her with deep bows conveying equal respect to her. The Red Queen gestures for them to rise and be at ease.

“Allow me dear Queen to state before any formal negotiations begin. It is an honor to be here in your wonderful and no don’t powerful kingdom. I look forward to the solidifying of an alliance between our two realms. I am sure that together there will be nothing that can stand in our way. To conquest. To glory. To victory.” Proclaims Hook his tone a powerful mixture of respect and confident determination. 

“You are indeed welcome. Pirate Lord Hook. I too have looked forward to this day. Shall we begin negotiation?” asks the Red Queen extending her hand. Hook strides over to her coolly. 

"I would love nothing better.” declares Hook shaking her hand firmly.


End file.
